


Cancer (On Hiatus)

by kissperingniall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Narry - Freeform, lilo, narry storan - Freeform, one direction - Freeform, zouis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissperingniall/pseuds/kissperingniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall has been living with diabetes since age twelve and although controlled, he’s been experiencing symptoms of something far more serious. At the ripe age of nineteen, Niall has been diagnosed with early stage pancreatic cancer. Resigning to his possible five year window of life, Niall isn’t prepared for the enigma that is Harry Styles, a twenty-five year old doctor going through his residency. Nor is he ready for his whole world turning upside down…</p><p>Or is it right side up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When you’re young, things like death and disease are but villains in fairy tales. Children only know to live life to the fullest, to have fun, make friends and spread joy abundantly. None of the mundane day to day tasks pass by them with any thought. They only do what they know.

Children are allowed the luxury of ignorance.

 

But when you’ve been diagnosed with diabetes, the world feels so tiny. Although controllable, things change. the foods you can eat and can’t, your morning, afternoon and nightly routines are turned from simple to a ritual of always checking your blood sugar and making sure your levels are even enough so that you don’t go into shock. Even sleeping at the proper hour affects your diabetes in a way where too much sleep results in too high of glucose and too little sleep results in low. 

Either way, it’s dangerous because you can end up in the ICU almost in an instant. Insulin isn’t a quick fix. It takes time from the shot to spread throughout your bloodstream from administration. 

As scary and frustrating as it may seem, taking care of my diabetes has become a daily habit. I don’t think about having to check my blood sugar. I just do. Nor do I fuss over the foods I consume, it’s all bland anyhow.

Of course, there are foods I can eat as long as it’s sugar free, and if it’s not, it has to be low in sugar. Being diabetic isn’t so bad, really.

So the question remains as to why I’m in the doctor’s office on a Tuesday evening, keeled over in pain, grasping my sides—because I swear that if I don’t I’m going to explode—and I’m wondering what the heck is going on? Mom is squeezing my knee with one hand and nipping at her nails on the other. There’s a lazily placed coffee cup steaming on the counter with an image of french fries on it saying “Not everybody can grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer”. I guess it’s funny, but my doctor has always collected novelty items so I lost the interest and humor in them years ago.

My last visit to him was six months ago for my yearly physical. I was trying out for soccer, something even Dr. Payne was encouraging since exercise promoted healthy livelihood and would aid in keeping my glucose in check. I’d been given a clean bill of health and proudly joined the team two weeks later.

We just finished the semi-finals last night and I had scored ten of the seventeen points. Getting the winning point, my team carried me off to victory lane and coach treated us to a celebratory dinner. Everything was definitely going in our favor, but earlier today at practice I collapsed, curled in the fetal position writhing in this pain I cannot even describe. When the paramedics arrived, they had asked me on a scale from one to ten how severe the pain was. I said eight even though it felt like a thousand. But I didn’t want to go out of it and then wake up in the ICU wondering what had happened and why I was even there in the first place.

The last time I was in the ICU, I could barely remember a thing. But that’s the funny part about going through a diabetic attack, it steals all the memories that led up to the point of collapse and leaves you stunned to silence because without recollection there is no process to define where you’ve been or what to even think once you’ve woken up in that crowded room. The other patients are always depressing—at least to me they are—and I always feel so exhausted.

It’s the last thing I want to do, I know that for certain.

So here I am, silently waiting for Dr. Payne to return with the test results. They had taken some blood and then a urine sample. You know, simple things, but it feels like eons before they return with any answer, so I’m patient. Mom’s a wreck though.

Clicking my tongue, the silent void is partially filled. Mom won’t stop fidgeting in her seat. Her knee is bouncing and I stop clicking my tongue all just to place my hand over her knee to comfort her. Our eyes meet and I can see how tired she is. All she ever does is worry lately and I think this has her on the edge. I smile, though.

“It’s gonna be okay. Okay?” Mom only nods. The worry doesn’t leave her face, but she tries to mask it.

A slight comfort washes over me and I turn back to watching the wall, the stupid french fry cup, the damned clock that keeps ticking louder and louder. I keep my sights on something, anything to distract me from those frightful thoughts. The ones that tell me that things are not going to be okay and that my life is in danger.

Because this pain is growing, becoming unbearable, and I just want to lie down but movement hurts more and I’m scared that if I fall asleep the pain will overtake me in the night. This isn’t normal—the Vicodin I was given has since worn off—and I’m just simply scared. There is no other word that can define how I’m feeling. I know this isn’t one of my diabetic attacks. It’s not in their nature to be painful.

I have an insane urge to pee even though I peed like twenty minutes ago.

 

There’s a knock at the door and Dr. Payne steps in, clipboard in hand, his usually energetic expression drawn down gravely. I gulp, stiffening my back, bracing myself for bad news because I’ve seen that look before. Negative nostalgia passes by me effortlessly, reminding me of the time I’d spent in the hospital for a good two weeks.

Again, I really don’t want to go back through that again.

Clearing his throat, he sits,flips through a few papers, sips from his french fry cup that I’m sure is cold by now, and looks my mom in the eye, obviously avoiding mine. I’m annoyed almost instantly.

He clears his throat again. Mom is restless, her had on my knee tightening while anticipating his words to come. “Maybe we should take this conversation outside?” Dr. Payne suggests and it’s as I thought.

There’s definitely something wrong with me.

I grit my teeth. Mom turns to me and I guess she can tell by my expression that I don’t want a repeat of three years ago. “I won’t leave Niall in the dark, Liam,” she answers, her voice firm and she continues to sit, keeping her ground. What’s even more surprising is her use of his first name. He’s not used to that, since everyone’s always so technical and calling him by doctor.

Liam appears flabbergasted by Mom’s resistance. The last time she was so quick to discuss matters of my health in secret. He clears his throat a third time and finally looks to me and sighs.

As he speaks, his voice is low and all sorts of sad. “I’m afraid that you’re experiencing symptoms of pancreatic cancer.”

Mom’s out of her seat, about to say something but nothing is voiced. That silent void returns and the pain intensifies. Alarmed by my sudden flinch, Dr. Payne injects another dose of pain medication into my bloodstream and it slowly numbs, barely pulsing. Sighing with relief, I gesture to Dr. Payne that I’m all right and to continue.

Glancing over to Mom, I can tell that the information has finally marinated and she’s back in her seat, head slumped, and calloused-from-age hands fisting her hair in large clumps. When the aching pain has dulled to a small roar, I turn back to Liam calmly. Resigning to my fate is so easy, yet I can’t accept it. I want answers. I want to know how to cure it and everything about pancreatic cancer. What makes it tick and all that jazz.

”How do we treat it?” I ask.

”Well, thankfully since you’re such a rare case, we can perform a surgery to block the tumor from growing. Afterwards, if you’ve recovered well, we can get you put on adjuvant chemotherapy with gemicitabine, bringing your five year window to almost ten if not more.”

His words finally sink into Mom and she’s hysterical. Sobbing, her face appears from aged palms, eyes drenched in sadness. “So you’re saying that you can’t cure him?”

Dr. Payne is quiet. “There is no known cure. Only methods of prolonging life. Even then the procedures may not even—”

”No,” she interrupts, eyes dilated and crazed. “I refuse to accept that.” At this point my side is cold from loneliness and she’s inches from Liam, pointing her finger accusingly, blaming him for everything even though cancer is at fault. “You’re telling me, that even in this day and age, not one doctor has found a cure?” Her question is rhetorical and taints the air, the density intense and claustrophobic, yet, Dr. Payne still opens his mouth to retort.

”With all due respect, Mrs. Horan, we’re lucky that we’ve caught it early on. That’s a one in a million chance. We have the opportunity to extend his life longer than any patient diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Please give us the chance to attempt to find a cure while he’s fit to fight it.”

Mom and I exchange looks and I nod.

xxx

The surgery is scheduled for November twentieth. When we get home, Mom calls Dad who is overseas on a business trip. I’m on the living room floor, half concentrating on the game when I hear the faint sound of sobs from the kitchen. I try to ignore them, I really do. Acknowledging that her sadness exists because of my illness kills me in a way, so witnessing it won’t do anything for me in a positive outlook. Yet, I’m too soft and I move to the doorway, peeking inside. Mom is at the table face hidden in her hand, phone held to her ear with the other and she’s crying.

Parents should never have to bury their children. Fact. Children should be ignorant of life’s ailments. Fact.

One day, I’m going to die and my parents will be at my funeral. Fact.

 

I guess I’m upset about the diagnosis. Greg says that it’s just a fluke and in a week we’ll find out I’ve been constipated this whole time and drop a massive load. Mom doesn’t find it funny, mostly because she’s scared and I don’t blame her. We all are. At least one of us is trying to be optimistic about things, and I suppose pulling the big brother facade—that one where he tries to cheer everyone up, while keeping us safe and equally annoyed—is something he should be reverting too.

If only he understood that he’s achieving one of the three, and that’s definitely the latter.

I’m pulled out of school almost immediately (a recommendation a la Dr. Payne). I offered to take online classes just to finish out my senior year, but Mom declines, going on about building up strength for my surgery and beyond that. Dad comes home on the fifteenth and all three of us sit down together.

 

Dad: Are you scared?

Me: I guess so.

Mom: Why aren’t you taking this seriously?

Me: Because not everything has to be depressing.

Mom: You’re going to die, baby. This is serious.

Dad: Maura, please calm…

Mom: No, don’t you dare tell me that I need to calm down, Bobby. My baby is going to die and I’m not ready to bury him. I shouldn’t have to!

And she’s right. She shouldn’t have to, and although Dad won’t admit it, he’s just as scared as she is.

 

After a while I realize that I’m just numb. I should be scared of dying, but I don’t feel that way, nor am I sad or nervous or anything. I feel nothing and I don’t know why. At night I lie awake, daydreaming about what it’d be like to allow death to take me away, if she would be sweet enough to take me in my sleep or be cruel and allow me a vile death, writhing in pain desperate for a quick release but she would deny me it. I don’t know how I got to be like this though. It’s been three four days since the diagnosis and I’m acting as if I’ve been sick with this for years.

 

On the eighteenth it rains.

And rains.

And rains.

And rains some more.

Mom has calm down some. She’s taken to sitting in front of the tele, watching documentary after documentary on the health channel. She always has this look in her eye that by watching shows on medical illnesses, she’ll miraculously find a cure and I’ll magically be better. Dad keeps telling her not to think about it. At first she screamed at him and questioned his love for me of which he shook off because he knew she was only lashing out. Now all Mom does is dismiss him. Succumbing to her stubbornness, Dad sits on the couch next to her, watching the tele.

Sometimes I see a small tear roll down his cheek as he reaches for Mom’s hand that only squeezes back desperately. Watching their sanity fade because of me is too much to bare.

I feel that at least, but what emotion it is I’m not sure.

On the nineteenth, the day before my surgery, Zayn visits me. Witnessing his familiar and long missed form on my front step, color seemingly returns to my life and a feeling of warmth rinses me. Smiling for the first time in a week, happiness is the first feeling I recognize.

”Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” I greet my voice barely audible but he hears it none the less, embracing me tightly.  
”Save the sappiness for tomorrow, and tell me you missed me,” he says. I laugh and invite him inside.

Greg catches sight of Zayn entering our house and proceeds to shout, “Mom, Ni’s bffl is here!” He then ruffles our hair, receiving a well-deserved glare from Zayn.

”What devil possesses him to be a complete twat whenever I come over?” He remarks, and I pass him a smirk. We head upstairs quietly, avoiding Mom to make a clean getaway.

 

Mom brings us a snack tray, diabetic friendly of course, and I bring a triangle cut turkey sandwich to my mouth, holding it there while I press a series of buttons on my XBOX controller. We’re on round nine of Black Ops Zombie mode and it feels like eons since Zayn and I have played. In fact, he, our friend Louis, and I used to play religiously before the diagnosis. Louis has a girlfriend now, so he spends a lot of his time with her, although I know it makes Zayn sad and a wee bit jealous. They’re friendship is interesting though, because it’s so obvious that they like each other but they’re too blind to see it. After demolishing me and trapping me in a circle of zombies, I drop my controller and tend to the soggy-from-my-saliva-turkey sandwich.

“So, we won the game,” Zayn mentions after a while. Third sandwich in, I swallow my bite and smile.

“Yeah? Wish I’d been there.”

His expression falls deep and turns dark. My chest feels tight and that annoying pain in my intestines returns even though I took my pain meds thirty minutes ago. It’s dull but noticeable. “Ni, I…” he begins and I already know where this is headed.

Setting the sandwich down, I grip his hand reassuringly. “Hey, hey look at me. Don’t you dare go sad on me. C’mon, smile.”—he does—“I’m not dead”—yet—“and you’ll get plenty of years with me. Remember our promise we made when we were kids?” I reach behind me and bring my guitar into my lap, cradling the instrument gently, caressing the neck softly. The strings squeaking as thick skinned finger tips run over them tenderly. “I’ve gotta become a big rock star and you’ll get famous for being a sexy beast and then we’ll die from drug abuse like all the other rockers did. It’ll be glorious!”

The nostalgia of the promise seems to cheer him up some. Of course we both know the promise is ridiculous in nature and will most likely never happen. But at least it’s a reason to live longer.

xxx

November twentieth, 10:07 a.m., the weather is dreary and showing signs of rain. Mom, Dad, Greg and I are heading to the hospital for my surgery. Dr. Payne says it’s simple, but made it a point to tell everyone else—as usual I’m left in the dark—on how the surgery is going to happen. So I took it under myself to do some research on my own.

It’s called the Whipple procedure, which is an easier way of saying pancreaticoduodenectomy. Basically, after putting me under anesthesia, the surgeon will go in and remove the first and second portions of the duodenum, the head of my pancreas, the common bile duct and my gallbladder. I didn’t take anatomy, so I can’t really say what each part functions as but after researching some, it’ll become a bypass from stomach to this part of my intestines called the jejunum, which part of it will be looped to the cystic duct to drain bile.

Dr. Payne says I shouldn’t have an issue recovering and since the tumor is miniscule, we could most likely buy me fifteen, if not twenty years. The idea of me living to almost forty comforted Mom some. Seconds after Dr. Payne announced the good news, Greg had to put in his two cents.

“We could get at least two kids outta you before ya croak.” We were the only ones to find it funny.

xxx

The Whipple procedure must’ve been a success since I wake up in a room, clothed in my hospital dress and hooked to an IV. Mom is snoring on the loveseat to my right, Dad leaning on her shoulder with their hands linked. The nightstand to my left is covered in bouquets of carnations, balloons, and get well cards. A few feet from the foot of my bed is a play board with get well notes scribbled about it from my teammates. The sentimentality of everything leaves me slightly teary eyed but I wipe them away, shaking my head with a sniffle.

A small smile creeps its way to my mouth then quickly shies away when Greg appears into the room, a pudding cup in his hand. he’s in mid bite when he notices I’m awake, my creeper smile moving to his lips, “Hey buddy.”

“I thought you didn’t like tapioca,” I point out, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Shrugging he shovels a spoonful of the white dessert into his mouth. “It was this or lime Jell-O.” Greg has this thing where he hates anything lime flavored. I still don’t get why since Key Lime Pie is one of the best pies I’ve had alongside apple. Chuckling, I shake my head, sitting up in bed with a yawn.

My side is sore from the stitches and my body is fatigued, but all other systems clear. That random urge to pee has gone too. At least I won’t be a potentially pregnant nineteen-year-old. Name credit goes to Greg. He only receives two points for attempted creativity.

Mom and Dad wake the moment Liam enters the room, smiling and not alone. His infamous clipboard is attached to him but he’s not flipping through any pages, and while that’s a wonderful sign, my eyes can’t remove themselves from the stranger behind Dr. Payne.

“The surgery was more successful than I believed it would be,” he announces and I can practically hear Mom and Dad’s smiles, and the scraping sound from Greg’s empty pudding cup that I’m sure he’s trying to get every last morsel. My sights are still locked on the stranger with wildly curly hair, stained by a decadent chocolate fountain.

My stomach growls at the thought of food.

“Someone sounds hungry,” Dr. Payne remarks. I nod. Turning to the stranger he murmurs something to him and the brunette disappears into the hallway silently. Returning to me, Liam smiles. “Once you’ve healed we’ll begin chemotherapy once every week until the tumor is almost nonexistent.” I nod again. “How are feeling?” He asks.

“Sore and not feeling like I need to pee,” I admit and he laughs.

“These are good signs then,” by now the stranger has returned and is handing me a fruit cup and a glass of water. Noticeably, his eyes are miraculously bright green yet almost cat-like. I can see a hint of dimples against his cheeks and there’s a distinct mole on his chin. He’s bizarrely attractive and I’m stunned to silence, unable to thank him after accepting the fruit and water.

“Oh, this is Harry. He’s a resident in the cancer ward. I’ve personally placed him here to assist with Niall’s recovery,” Dr. Payne finally explains. My eyes still haven’t left Harry’s and he flashes a perfectly poised smile at me, soft dimples broadcasting the grin in a remotely childish way.

His voice is low when he speaks, “Hope you don’t mind, but your case was so interesting. I’ve been studying pancreatic cancer for years and it’s rare when we stumble upon someone so young.” I understand where he’s coming from. Pancreatic cancer is distinctly in those of the age forty and up. Anyone younger than that is a rarity and good for studies.

Is it possible for someone to stumble upon a heart that feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest? I’m barely retaining the words he’s saying, focusing on his voice and how he enunciates every word slow and properly.

Moments pass and I realize he’s waiting for a reply. “Oh umm, yeah. It’s fine. I’ve been urm… reading up on it… and”—oh god why do I sound idiotic?—“yeah. I get it.” I just shut up, already embarrassed enough that I’ve lost the ability to speak appropriately. Harry only laughs lightly, patting my blanket covered knee before turning to my parents.

One thing’s for sure. I’m definitely not numb anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry tends to my every whim. From fetching me food to adding morphine to dull the pain of recovery; he really knew how to please my needs. We seldom have personal conversations. I intend to change this almost immediately because I can no longer stare at this beautiful creature without so much as a morsel of pertinent information that will ultimately lead up to some hint of romanticism between us. Perhaps I’m a bit too hopeful but c’mon, I’m an adolescent—barely—and I still have desires even though I’m dying. 

Mum says that I’m not allowed to admit it but I don’t see why not. My cancer is terminal. Maybe not right now but I will eventually meet my maker through cancer herself. I often fantasize about Death and how she’ll greet me in the end. It’s my preference that she meets me with open arms, like an old friend but I’m most likely fooling myself on that one. Although, who really knows if Death is a soft temptress. 

While tending to my stitches, a relatively intimate thing I’ve found since he gets a nice shot of my chest and side when he disinfects them, I eye a cleverly hidden silver chain tucked underneath his doctor’s smock. When Harry’s not looking I attempt to lean forward to try to catch a glimpse of what’s on the end of the chain but it’s in vain once he pulls away from my side, leaving behind a sting created by alcohol. Inertly I flinch in slight pain and he’s alarmed by my sudden reaction. 

"Oh I’m sorry did I put too much alcohol on your wound?" He genuinely looks worried with his big cat like green eyes and those dimples are peering up at me, begging to be poked and I’m all sorts of enchanted by him. It’s an interesting concept, the idea of being so infatuated with someone on account of their innate attractiveness. 

I give a small nod and he presses a button, releasing a dose of morphine into my system and pulls down the hospital gown to cover me up. A large hand pats my blanketed knee as he stands, moving to put away his antiseptic tools. Watching him go about his daily duties, the silver chain slides out of its collared pocket and out in the open, revealing a paper airplane shaped pendant. Quickly, Harry shoves it back into his shirt and finishes up, nodding to me before exiting the room, leaving me to my thoughts and an awkward silence that only TV could fill.

Flipping to the game, it’s well into the second half and both teams are tied. Watching soccer only makes me miss it. Zayn and Louis came in earlier this week, a Tuesday I think, and showed me footage from our finals, the one that we won without me. As proud as I am for my team, I can only feel a hint of bitterness towards my illness for putting me to rest and halting all things important to me. Of course it wasn’t as if it was all planned out this way-maybe by fates hand-but either way, I wanted to lead my team to victory just as I had with the semifinals and games previously. Zayn had also snuck in some Nandos for me since I’ve been eating the gross hospital food that barely fills me.

When Harry returns, it’s with a tray of food. To my dismay it’s icky hospital tapioca and something akin to a TV dinner. Frowning, I give him a look but then turn away, hoping he didn’t catch it. 

"So the other day," he begins, settling onto the stool next to my bedside. He does this little rolling back and forth thing on purpose and I can tell there’s a little kid in that massive body just itching to climb out. I smile, tending to the gross hospital food, but it’s something to eat and my stomach sounds like it’ll consume me from the inside out if I don’t. "The other day I saw a fast food bag belonging to Nandos." My shoulders tighten and I look up from the tray to meet green cat eyes. At first I figure he’s upset about me having food snuck in—I feel remotely like a prisoner. Gotta have some sort of goods smuggled in—but at a second glance, he’s not. There’s a kindred smile slowly stretching across his face, creating those heart breaking dimples, and he’s lifting his right arm up to reveal a doggie bag from the heavens. "So, instead of breaking rules by sneaking in food, I figured I’d bring it to you and eat with you."

Okay, so you know that feeling when your heart literally falls to the pit of your chest even though you know it’s not physically possible but it damn well should be because you feel it sitting there, taunting you and reminding you that you’re crushing so hard on someone and that your heart may just in fact explode?

Basically, that’s me right now. 

I intend to thank him, but my words get jumbled and I say something unintelligent like, “Hospital food, icky. Nandos, good.” As to why I sound like a caveman, I have no idea, and I feel like a complete fool, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind my idiocy. He quite literally rolls back on the stool, practically falling over because he’s laughing too hard. Oh god is his laugh enticing. 

"I have to agree. I don’t understand why the cafeteria staff decides to make the most unappetizing foods for our patients. So I, on the other hand, decided I’d treat you today. You’re recovery has gone smoothly and in a few days, we can send you home." Harry says, digging through the bag and pulling out a breast of Peri-Peri chicken and setting it on my plate. He hands over a fork and a proper butter knife and gestures to me to eat. "Although you’ll have to take it quite easy so that you don’t rip the stitches. In a couple of weeks you’ll be able to freely roam around, just don’t do anything too dangerous because you’ll have to see my ugly mug again," he finishes with a chuckle. 

Harry’s served his food to himself and we’re both in the midst of eating when I suddenly blurt, “But what if I want to see you again?”

I feel like a complete dolt once it comes out, but I can’t take it back and now the room is completely silent, except the TV, even though that’s just background noise. He’s in mid bite when he registers the information and looks to me with wide eyes. His jaw is dropped partially with mouth closed and the expression on his face makes me want to laugh but I don’t. I’m shocked at my own words and can’t find the will to move my body.

Somehow though, I find a way to actually voice an apology. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean that—”

Putting a hand up to silently interrupt me, Harry shakes his head, those voluminous curls flouncing about wildly and he finishes his bite. “No, it’s fine. I just… How do I put this…” He presses his palms together, bringing them to his face and thinks. I can see the thoughts reeling in his eyes, those pretty green orbs that should be windows to his soul but I still don’t know how to read him. His silence makes me nervous, rubs me the wrong way, and I’m almost frightened about what he’s pondering over. “The relationship between a doctor and a patient should stay as such,” he begins and my body does that weird thing where you feel like you’re being electrocuted but it’s for a split second and then everything emotional is nagging at you to cry but I’m a boy and I’m not supposed to cry and why do I even have a crush on this guy when he’s clearly beyond my years? Okay he’s only like twenty five but still. “I don’t think that—”

"No, I’m not meaning like that. I meant in a platonic way. As in friendship." I correct even though it definitely wasn’t what I meant. Not that Harry needed to know that his dying patient is crushing on him. "What does the necklace mean by the way?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. However, Harry’s form stiffens and his silence is deafening. His eyes look away from me and he’s mute. Minutes pass by and not a word is uttered until a soft sigh is let out and then there’s the loud beeping from his pager. Staring at the pager he gets up and puts his barely touched, unfinished food in the trash.

"I’ve gotta go. I’ll have Dr. Payne check up on you in an hour or so," he mentions and then leaves. The TV is no longer background noise and I’m acutely aware of my adopted loneliness and the fact that resident doctor Harry Styles has no intention of opening up to a depressing and sickly patient such as myself.

 

xxx

Mom visits me later that evening and brings me what she calls a treat but is actually just a book filled with diabetes friendly food recipes. She says that since I’ve been gone from home for so long that she misses cooking me meals I can enjoy and eat without fear of having an attack. I don’t get it, but if it calms her I’m okay with it. I choose a dessert and she smiles, marking the page with a sliver of a sticky note for future reference. 

"So how do you feel?" Mom asks after a while and I shrug.

"The stitches are itchy and my butt is getting sore from sitting on it all day long, but Dr. Payne says I’ll be up and walking around in no time," I answer, picking at the peel of an orange that she brought in her "goody" bag. "I’m scared that I’ll look in the mirror and my butt is flat as a square and I don’t think any amount of food or exercise could regain that bubbly shape I once had." She tries not to laugh even though it’s clearly funny. Eventually she lets out a long overdue chuckle and I can finally see a hint of light return to her aging face. The whole I’m-sick-with-terminal-cancer thing has stressed Mom the most and it’s painfully obvious. I feel guilty, never wanting something like this to happen and I feel like I’ve almost become a bit of a burden to her.

To everyone.

"Hey, there she is. I was scared your soul faded off into the eternal abyss and you’d never come back." With a smile, she nudges me, shaking her head.

"I’m glad you still have a sense of humor then." After thirty minutes of talking and laughing about nothing and everything, Dr. Payne steps inside followed by a lackluster Harry. An awkwardness fills the room but only Harry and I seem to feel it since he continuously dodges my glances. Trying to shove the feeling to the backburner I ignore Harry and look to Liam.

"Well, you’re doing remarkably well in the recovery process. Only gotten sick once and your stitches are healing rather quickly," he states and there’s a distinct heat that rushes to my cheeks at the memory of throwing up on Harry when he was cleaning my stitches. I refuse to look at him but the tension in the air gets more awkward and I can tell he’s remembering that day as well. "It looks to me like you’ll be ready to leave within forty eight hours and you can start to live a relatively normal life," Liam smiles, glancing to Mom who is more than overjoyed. 

She smiles brightly, almost too excited for words but she nods and they move over to the side to have a private conversation. I do my best to occupy myself, focusing on the one thing that I wanted to matter, the TV. More specifically, the rugby game. It’s all a ruse though, to avoid Harry’s stare, which is suddenly on me when he decidedly settles onto the stool next to me. It takes all I have to ignore him, which isn’t quite enough; I give in within several minutes, meeting Harry’s cat eyes and sigh. 

"What?"

"I’ve been trying to figure it out. Why I’m so impossibly infatuated by you," He murmurs quietly, his voice low and husky and sexy in all the right ways, and my eyes grow in shock. Green eyes search my face and I gulp nervously when his large palm rests on my blanketed leg and lightly squeezes. "I want more than anything to stay professional about this, but when I first laid eyes on you I just… You don’t even realize how much life has returned to your skin, nor do you get how incredibly amazing you are and…" his voice fades as he gazes at me, almost mesmerized. 

"What are you saying? Because if you’re just going to tell me I’m some stupid kid and that things could never—"

"That’s definitely not what I’m getting at." Harry interrupts me. We lock eyes for a few moments and Liam and Mom return to us. Harry gets up from his seat, Liam asks me a few follow up questions before leaving, and Harry shakes my hand, patting my leg before leaving. Clenching my hand, there’s a folded piece of paper in it and I quickly tuck my fist under the blanket and smile up at Mom. She moves over to me, kisses my forehead, says her I love you’s and goodnight’s and follows the doctors out. 

Sighing, I’m content with the silence of the room and open the note, realizing the ten digit number scrawled in sloppy yet clean handwriting is Harry’s. There’s a burning sensation to the apples of my cheeks and I quite believe that I am gushing over resident doctor Harry Styles.

While the thought is fairly exciting, I get a sudden urge to pee and I am not using a bedpan this time. Nope. That stuff is gross and messy and Harry will have to clean it and we’re not even a couple nor are we old so I don’t think that’s proper. A little voice in the back of my head reminds me that I’m dying and that it’s a different case so I do nothing but sigh.

Then, I determine the distance between here and the little bathroom about ten feet away. I could make it, do my business, and get back and none would be the wiser. Or maybe I could just hold it and wait till someone can wheel me over to the bathroom.

When the urge becomes too great, I decide fuck it and swivel my body around, landing my feet on the cold unfamiliar surface of the hospital floor. It’s soothing in a way, but that’s when I notice that my legs are numb and this is going to be a harder task to complete than I originally thought. Sighing, I get up slowly, grasping the headboard of the bed for leverage and begin my quest to the temple of relief.

It takes more effort than I expected, with wobbly legs and as thin as paper bones, I feel unhealthy and as if I’ve been bed ridden for years rather than the five days I’ve spent in that godforsaken bed. Gasping for breath, I grip the doorway, holding myself up albeit weakly. My eyes train on the porcelain throne not two feet from me and all I want to do is allow sleep to overcome me, but the urge to pee returns and I’m in a rush to relieve myself. Sliding inside, my legs give in and I have no choice but to sit on the cold toilet, yet it doesn’t matter because this feels better than anything in the world.

Besides food. Food is the most amazing thing ever.

Flushing the toilet, I stand slowly, pulling my sweats up and then move towards the bed. Stepping back to the cold floor, I look up and freeze when I see Harry standing at the door. “Niall, what are you—”

"I had to pee. Sorry mate. Couldn’t hold it." I answer and continue towards the bed, but he comes over to me, assisting me to the bed. I’m grateful. My legs are on fire and I’m scared they’ll break but when I glance down at them, they appear as normal and muscly as ever. "I feel like I haven’t moved in years," I mention and Harry gazes at me, pursing his plump lips to the side. Climbing into bed, the fiery blaze on my legs disperses and I relax into the mattress, sighing contentedly. "Thanks. I appreciate the help."

"Niall, you could’ve ripped your stitches open," Harry advises but his tone of voice is condescending and the anger boils in my blood. I’m not a five year old; I don’t need to be treated this way.

Growling at him I stop his little authoritative attitude. “No, that’s not okay. I’m not a child, and I damn well know what I was doin’ but I refuse to defecate on a stupid bedpan. I have more self-dignity than that.”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt. You’re my responsibility and I don’t want anything to—”

“Are we really having this conversation?” I chide, glaring at him and he’s taken aback. “I’m checking out in two days and I’m out of your hair. And about this,” I pull the note from the nightstand and shove it back in his hands. “I don’t want your number.”

“Niall I…”

“No, please don’t bother me right now. I want to go to sleep.” I mumble, turning my body away from him and snuggling into the pillow, bringing the blanket up to my nose. Harry sighs and I hear him move towards the IV, adjusting the pain medication and then he heads towards the door.

Harry goes to leave but turns back to look to me. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he leaves.

I’m alone again but this time, I couldn’t feel lonelier.


	3. Chapter 3

Mom and Dad bring me home on the second of December. It’s a snowy day and the thermometer reads two degrees Celsius. Greg told me yesterday that this weekend we’re going snowboarding, but I don’t quite find that to be a good idea. Mom will have a heart attack if I attempt any sort of laborous activity and my body will pretty much collapse on itself from over exertion. Besides that, I just want to sleep. In fact, the whole thirty minute drive from the hospital to the house is spent taking a nap. Dr. Payne has been trying to wean me off of the morphine for the past two days and prep me for the chemotherapy in two days.  
I’m going to miss my hair, so I promise to say my goodbyes to it when I get home and can actually look at my reflection. It makes me nervous though. I haven’t seen my face in almost two weeks, and I’m scared to find that I’ve aged overnight. I can’t help but think back to Harry’s words though. He said the life has been returning to me but how can you tell that to someone that is dying?

The answer is, you can’t, and I’m quite certain it’s the biggest lie Harry will ever tell me.

Yawning, I rise from my perch against the cold window of Mom’s sedan. My eyelids are heavy and my body is weak, but I recognize my surroundings. We’re turning left at the light at Southern and heading down the snowplowed asphalt. Our house is lit up to the festivities of the holiday season, but I’m not feeling very festive.

Pulling into the driveway, Greg’s shoveling snow, clearing the pathway to the front door. Once sighting us, he sets the shovel aside and moves to my door, opening it to help me out. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel it.” I return, meeting his eyes wearily and he helps me inside, Mom and Dad following with my stuff.

Stepping through the front door, I’m surprised to find Zayn and Louis in the living room, holding up a cheesy little banner that says “Welcome Home Niall”, their handsome faces flashing excited smiles. Greg removes his arm from my waist and allows me to move towards my best friends, slowly embracing the two of them in a rather weak hug.

“Whoa there Popeye, don’t squeeze us too hard!” Louis jokes and I lightly smack his shoulder, grinning to him happily. He grasps my cheeks gently and turns my face every which way, as if he hasn’t seen me in ages and needs to refresh his memory of how I look. “You need to eat more food. Your cheeks are sunken in.”

Sighing, I slump my shoulders. “I was afraid of that,” I murmur, looking up at him somberly. Louis shakes his head and continues beaming his perfect little smile at me.

“Get rid of that depressing attitude, mate! We’re still alive and well and you’re home and that’s all that matters.” A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips and my mouth is curving upwards. This is exactly the reason why Louis is one of my favorite people. He’s always doing his best to make sure everything is positive and creates a calm atmosphere.

“You’re right.”

“Who wants to play FIFA?” Zayn chimes in and I raise my hand slightly, too weak to do my normal thing and fling my arms about cheerfully. He chuckles and the three of us head upstairs—even though it’s a bit difficult for me to keep pace—and head to my bedroom. I can tell that Mom has kept up with making it look the same as I had left it. The concept is comforting because it’s like I never left, like I was never diagnosed, like I never had to leave behind my usual lifestyle.

Sadly, the cruel reality hits me when sitting down I stretch the stitches and I’m reminded that all of this happened, and it’s never going to be better. Wincing, Louis and Zayn look to me worriedly, moving to my side almost immediately. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I jest, holding my hand up and my other against my side as if it’ll make me feel better. “I sat down too fast, don’t worry, okay?” I plead with them. They exchange looks then settle on the floor next to my feet. Zayn reaches for the XBOX controller wantonly, and turns the system on; making sure the FIFA disc is in it. Mom brings up a tray of snacks, mostly fruit, and a few juice packs.

“Oh, Niall, Dr. Styles called to make sure you made it home all right. He didn’t ask to speak to you though,” Mom blurts and I gaze up at her far from amused, sucking lightly on the straw, more so focusing on the apple juice than her words. But they somehow hit me, because Harry fucking Styles called to check up on me and my heart is racing now. Butterflies flutter about my stomach and I feign a smile.

“Thanks mom.” Figuring that’s her cue to leave, she nods, shutting the door softly behind her.

Seconds after Mom leaves, Louis quickly turns around; an eyebrow perked upwards, his expression devious. “Ooh… Who’s Dr. Styles?” I sigh, palming my face and shaking my head. I’m not ready for this conversation. Zayn knows about him because he came to the hospital to visit when Harry was actually tending to me. Louis had missed him by a few minutes, having left before Harry walked into my room to disinfect my stitches. I’m assuming Zayn didn’t say a word about him if Louis is questioning the significant of my resident doctor.

Zayn glances at me, almost asking for permission to answer Louis’ bothersome question. Nodding, he turns to our cinnamon haired friend and grins. “Harry—I mean Dr. Styles—is Nialler’s resident doctor and his crush.” I roll my eyes when Louis practically hops in place, making the loudest thumping noise I’ve ever heard.

“Hey! Keep it down in there will ya! Some of us are watchin’ the tube!” Greg hollers from the living room and the three of us stifle a chuckle. The moment of amusement passes too quickly and Louis’ in my face, interrogating me about Harry.

I stare into his blue eyes, speechless from our close proximity. “So, holding out on me about this new beau of yours?”

Rolling my eyes I shake my head. “He’s not my new beau. He’s not anything to me.”

“Oh bull! I saw the way you looked at him,” Zayn steps in and I sigh, looking away from the both of them because they’re relentless. That’s the way things have always been. I’m the careless one, Zayn is there but isn’t and then Louis is always in everyone’s face about everything. I love them—they are my best friends after all—but sometimes they suffocate me when it comes to me liking others. At least things haven’t changed since my recent pending death related news. 

“Even still, that doesn’t mean anything is going to happen between us,” I retort back to them, unable to control my innate irritation about this conversation. I’m growing weary and I just want to crawl into my bed and sleep the rest of my life away. “Who wants to date a dead man anyways,” I mumble solemnly, cringing because there are looming tears and I really don’t want to cry over this, but really, who knows if I’m going to meet that one person that brightens my world and all that’s going to happen is me leaving them. Why would I ever want to subject someone to that? 

That’s utter and complete torture and I’m not that kind of a person to do that to someone.

Louis and Zayn’s expressions have fallen and my heart is breaking, pounding at my chest painfully, begging to be set free because it refuses to be tormented. But that’s just the thing, aren’t all souls that are damned to death mutilated inevitably? A hand is set onto my knee and looking up, I meet Zayn’s eyes.

“Niall… Anyone would be lucky to have you. You maybe be limited in the years you can give, but it doesn’t matter the quantity, because you have more to offer than you truly believe,” Zayn explains. I think I’m going to cry. He squeezes my knee and smiles slightly. “You’re literally the most amazing person I know”—Louis inwardly scoffs and Zayn smirks—“Besides Louis, and I know, that if someone truly loved you, that it wouldn’t matter that you’re sick with cancer. If they truly loved you, then they would spend their numbered years with you, making every day special and memorable. And that doesn’t mean that the day is spectacular or anything, it just means that you two spent time together, loving one another, learning things that no one else knows. I see that future for you, Niall. You just have to believe that everything will be okay in the end.”

My eyes are flooded at this point and I just want to be held. Louis and Zayn do just that, embracing me, comforting me and telling me that everything will be okay. I never figured that it’d come to this day, the day where I’m not scared of dying, the day where I’m no longer numb. I know that I’ll eventually die, and even if it’s sooner than everyone else, it’ll be all right.

Because I refuse to live the rest of my days, laying about doing nothing but moping over my illness.

xxx

The next couple days I use to sleep. I’m always so exhausted and I think it’s from the medication, but since today is the day I start chemo, my body refuses to sleep due to the anxiousness and quite possibly the fear of losing my hair and feeling ill due to the radiation. Louis tells me not to worry about my hair because we can always get me wigs, but the idea seems silly to me. Why should I hide that I’m fighting cancer? And if I’m feeling insecure about my potential baldness, I’ll just throw on a Snapback and call it a day

Dad drives me to the hospital this time. Mom has to meet with a client for her catering business so it’s just us today. Greg says he can’t be in the hospital for too long; apparently it depresses him too much, not that I blame him.

I didn’t realize how weak I’d become until I attempted the steps to the hospital. Why they even made steps for the ill, I don’t know but I’d rather this than the wheelchair ramp. That one seems to have more effort needed. Dad assists me up the tiring stairs and we head inside, greeting the nurse at the front desk and checking in. She tells me to take a seat and wait for Dr. Payne to call me in. Minutes pass before his beaming smile flashes at me, dressed in his sea foam green doctors smock, his trusty clipboard in hand.

“Good morning, Niall. How are you feeling today?”

“Tired and nervous.”

He makes a note of it on the clipboard with a nod. “Well, I can assure you that today will be easy. It may be a bit scary at first, but you’ll get used to it.” I’ll get used to it, what a joke. I almost laugh but I don’t out of respect. I reply with a simple “Okay” and follow him to a room where a nurse awaits me. “First, we’re going to test your blood to make sure that you’ll respond to the chemo properly,” he flips through a page. “Then, we’ll get your prescriptions ordered for anti-sickness and the chemo tablets. Afterwards, we’ll start the treatment. It’ll be easy, only it’ll take several hours to get through. Do you have any questions?” Dad and I both shake our heads and the nurse gets to taking my blood. It pinches for a moment but the pain dissipates quickly and before I know it, I’m waiting around for my blood to come back from the lab.

“I can’t… I can’t imagine what must be going through your head right now,” Dad murmurs, breaking the thirty minute silence. We’re sitting in the doctor’s office, all to ourselves. Chin digging into my shoulder, I veer up at him, my eyes wide at first but they lower towards the linoleum. Fidgeting with my hands, I debate how to explain the whirring thought processes functioning in my head at current.

Bringing my pressed palms to my lips, I click my tongue. “It’s like… I’m brutally aware that I’m not okay, but at times I get this sudden burst of hope that the chemo and all the treatments will cure me. And yet…” I let out a small laugh, it’s hollow and fills the air. “And yet I know all too well that I’m going to die and that scares… used to scare me.”

“Used to?” It’s strange how Dad is trying to relate to me, whereas Mom is always coddling and pestering me to not think about the cancer and death and whatnot. I kind of like this.

“Yeah,” I murmur, smirking slightly. “Everyone dies eventually right? I just have less years to live than normal people.”

xxx

Its noon and we’ve been waiting around for the tests to come back for a little over two hours. My stomach grumbles and it’s time for lunch. Dad notices I’m hungry and gets up, heading out to the hallway towards the cafeteria. I follow him, hands tucked into pockets and legs sore from poor circulation. There’s a buzzing in my pocket; it’s a text from Louis.

Louis: If you see Dr. Styles, send him my regards for taking care of my best friend. Oh and blowing a kiss or 2 doesn’t hurt ;)

I roll my eyes, tittering my fingers across the touch screen to reply.

Me: You’re relentless. I’ll let him know you said hi, although he’ll be confused since he doesn’t know you!

Louis only replies with another winky face and I sigh, putting my phone back in my pocket and step into the cafeteria. It’s bustling with doctors and nurses on their breaks, eating and conversing normally. Dad’s in line for food and I can already tell he’s served my portion—diabetic friendly food, of course. Scanning the tables for an empty spot, I eye a familiar head of chocolate curls. Harry’s hunched over, reading a book while spooning his soup into his mouth nonchalantly, his green eyes never moving from the pages. I debate seating Dad and I next to him, but I don’t want to impose, nor do I want him to suspect that I like him.

It’s childish, this little game I’m playing with myself, but I know that nothing good will come from pursuing Harry. He’s in his residency and getting close to your doctor isn’t exactly the smartest idea, nor is it kosher. 

As I turn to look for another spot, it’s too late and Harry’s glanced up, his eyes directed straight at me and I gulp, heart racing madly. He’s bitten into his ham sandwich and is chewing slowly, taking in the sight of me as if he hadn’t seen me in years. After a few minutes of staring, he waves his hand beckoning me to come join him. I can’t exactly deny him now that he’s spotted me so I shrug and move to him, seating myself directly across from him. He grins when I settle onto the bench and those dimples are seriously going to be the death of me.

All jokes aside, his skin is tanned and his eyes seem brighter. He’s happy and I curse myself that I’m not the reason for it. I gave him back his number and gave him the cold shoulder my last couple of days in recovery and we barely said a word to each other, except for a short goodbye where we didn’t even so much as exchange looks. I messed up a good opportunity to get his friendship and for whatever reason, he still wants me around him.

“So, chemotherapy today?” He asks, stirring his spoon around his bowl, the tomato soup swirling and rippling against the edges of the white glass.

I nod, “Yeah, I’m nervous about it.” His grin doesn’t leave and he shakes his head.

“Don’t be. It’s nothing to be nervous over. Just a needle that’ll administer the chemo into your system. You might fall asleep though, just because it gets boring sitting there, waiting till it’s over.” Harry advises and I nod, looking away from him and towards the massive window to our right.

“I kinda wish,” I duck my head, leaning against the surface of the table, resting on folded arms. I sigh. “I kinda wish that everything would just be over already. I hate what it’s done to my family and I hate what it’s done to my body. I’m just a burden on everyone now and it sucks.” Everything is silent for a while until a warmth grips my arm. Glancing up , my eyes meet Harry’s and his expression is somber.

His grip on my arm squeezes a bit and he smiles sadly, “I wish you wouldn’t think that way. Believe me, you’re far from being a burden on anybody. You’re an amazing young man, and you have so much in store for you, but let’s make sure you get better first, okay?” His words are comforting, as if he understands how this feels. But how can he when he’s doesn’t even have this? How can he sit here and tell me such kind words and make me feel like I matter and it sucks because I still like him and I can’t even tell him that, but he makes me feel better about myself and I don’t know what to do or say or think.

Dad swoops in next to me, breaking my train of thought as the tray of food is slid under my nose. Ignoring Harry, I automatically engorge myself with the succulant fruit and sugar free pudding cups. The food really isn’t that great, but it’s something, and my stomach is no longer growling at me. But Harry’s still got his eyes on me, and my stomach is somersaulting, the butterflies fluttering and it feels like I have a container of cola fizzing about within me.

“Well I’m glad you haven’t lost your appetite,” Harry comments with a chuckle and I roll my eyes, stabbing a leaf of lettuce almost as if I’m angry with it.

“I don’t think this boy will ever stop eating, not even in his last moments,” Dad adds and I’m almost surprised how easily he talks about my pending death. I think maybe he’s trying to act positive about it or something to help him through it, but who really knows why he’s acting this way. He turns to Harry. “So, are you going to be helping with administering the chemo today?”

“I won’t be injecting it into his system, but I will be overseeing the process. If there are any complications, Dr. Payne and I will be their within seconds.”

I give Harry a look. “Complications?”

Green eyes set their sights on me and it’s bone chilling. “Presumably, you’re going to be just fine throughout the process, however, if for some reason, you reject the chemo, which is a rarity in itself, we’ll be there to make sure you’re all right.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” I say dryly, glancing away from him because I cannot handle his mysteriously handsome face. “So there are chances that I could go into shock, is what you’re saying.”

“It’s very minimal if at all. But really, there’s no need to worry about it.”

“I’m not worried,” I mumble, chin resting in the palm of my hand. “It just means I might die sooner right?” Okay, so maybe I’m not easily adapting to this whole positive way of thinking, but quite frankly, none of this matters.

The chemo session isn’t so bad. In fact, I sleep through most of it, which is a norm for me as of late. All I ever do is sleep and I don’t know if there will ever be a day when I can just live it normally. I want to go outside and play soccer with my friends, or go snowboarding with Greg. I wish I could eat ice cream every day or even party and drink alcohol, but I can’t. I’m stuck in this body that refuses to be healthy.

Waking up, my eyelids are heavy and they set on Harry’s almost immediately, like it’s second nature. He’s watching me carefully, his left arm crossed over his chest and the right vertical, leaning against the other as he caresses his chin in thought. He looks so different when serious, that kindred spirit lying dormant within the body of a man, and it terrifies me for some reason. I feel like a child compared to him, but I yearn for him more than I ever registered. I want to get to know him, befriend him, I want to go on dates with him, maybe become lovers. I want to learn from him, be loved by him. I want all of these things but I refuse to allow it because what? Because I have an end date?

When the chemotherapy is over, I feel a bit sick, but Liam says that’s normal. He gives me a few of the anti-sickness pills and I slowly get up from my perch, pulling my jacket sleeves up my arms. Dad pats my shoulders with a smile. “You did great.” I don’t know why he’s praising me. I just sat in a chair for two hours with a needle in me, but I shrug with a small smirk.

“Thanks.” Harry approaches me as we move out of the chemo room and he’s beaming a dimply smile. “Well… That was anti-climatic.”

“Told you it’d be easy,” he pats my back, but it lingers there, his thumb rubbing circles along my spine. He doesn’t seem to notice what he’s doing until Dr. Payne shows up, giving him a look of sorts, and he pulls away quickly.

Flipping through pages on his clipboard, Liam smiles—that seems to be everyone’s favorite thing to do today. “Looks like everything checks out. You’re going to feel a bit nauseous for a few hours, but that’s normal. Now, I want you to get a lot of rest. Sleep kills illness, so that’s the key in fighting this. But other than that, you should start to feel better within a few days and you’ll be required to come back in four weeks for further treatment. If you have any questions or concerns, here’s my contact information, including my cell if I can’t be reached here.” Liam informs and I nod. “Oh, and all of Harry’s contact information is here too, just in case you still can’t reach me. I’m sure he’d find me somehow and yell at me or something,” he jokes and Harry feigns an offended gasp.

“I’m a bit hurt that you would think I’m so mean,” Harry jests and they laugh. Dad shakes his head, clearly amused.

Tapping my back, I turn to face Dad. “So, I’m gonna head towards the car and warm it up. Come down when you’re ready.” I nod, finding it strange that he would leave me with these two buffoons, but I suppose the gesture is appreciated. He meanders down the hallway and I rotate back to the two doctors. They’re still chuckling, their hysterics slowly coming down.

“Well, if there are no more questions, I have a patient to meet with. Have a good evening, Niall. You’re a very brave young man,” Liam praises and heads down the hall to the right. Harry and I exchange stares and there’s an awkward silence between us.

“So umm… I guess I was supposed to have your number anyways, huh?” I kid, but Harry doesn’t seem amused. His expression is flat and he’s staring straight through me. “Sorry, urm… Should I just go?”

I wait for a response, but receive none, so I simply nod and turn to walk away but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. We’re face to face, close in proximity and my heart is in my throat, beating against the apples of my cheeks. He’s whispering, but I hear him like his voice is amped up. “I want to see you again, outside of our doctor-patient relationship.” I’m almost one hundred percent positive that I’m gushing up a storm because my cheeks are burning and my heart is racing and this is the scariest thing I’ve felt in nineteen years of living.

Someone is actually interested in me, despite my illness. And this someone just so happens to be one of the kindest, most adorably green eyed man-child I know.


	4. Chapter 4

Waking up in the morning proves difficult most days. Sometimes I don’t wake up till afternoon and Mom freaks, thinking I’ve somehow passed in my sleep. Ironically she’s the one always telling me not to think that way but when she’s shaking me awake in a panic, I tend to pass her the sharpest of glares—partly because I’m not ready to be awake and partly because she’s hypocritical.  
It’s a Saturday afternoon and I’m slowly bringing myself out of bed and towards the bathroom to shower. I’m excited because today’s the day that Harry and I are hanging out. Louis says it’s a date but I brush it off because honestly, the idea of dating someone scares me and Harry’s so gorgeous and I just want to kiss him but what if my lips taste like death, or what if somehow I’m mutated from the chemo and I’ll suck the life out of him lie Rogue from X-Men? Oh the places my mind wanders to.

Getting out of the shower, I stare into the mirror for what seems like the first time in years. My cheeks are a bit sunken in, but it isn’t too noticeable. People will just think I’m skinny and that’s fine, because I’ve always been skinny. I squirt a dime of gel into my hand and comb through my hair, styling it upwards. Louis had taught me how to style my hair where it’s out of my face and it’s almost effortless to actually do it. Taking the blow dryer, I dry my hair lightly, pinching at it. When I’m satisfied with the fluffy outcome, I brush my teeth, put deodorant on and head back to my room, towel wrapped around my waist and shut the door behind me.

Pulling out a pair of jeans, my phone violently erupts in a chimey ringtone I’d set for Louis and I answer it with a sigh, “Hey.”

“Why’d you sigh? What was the sigh for?! How dare you sigh when you answer my call! I’m hanging up!” Louis exclaims and I smirk.

“What’s up?”

I can hear his smile as he replies, “Did you just get out of the shower?”

“How awkward of a question that is. Yes, Lou, I did. Did you just finish wanking off?” I figure I’d try to embarrass him even though that’s almost impossible with how shameless the boy is.

“How’d you know?!”

Shaking my head, I laugh. “You’re ridiculous. Anyways, I’ve still gotta get ready. Dunno what I’m wearing though.”

“You wanna know what color I like most on you?”

“Hm?”

“Teal. Wear that teal long sleeved shirt you’ve got, with a pair of jeans. If you need any makeup I’ve got some handy and can be over in a jiffy,” he jokes and I smirk.

“No thanks, but I’ll keep that in mind. Anyways, I’ve gotta get back to getting ready. Harry will be here to pick me up in twenty.”

“Kay bye~ Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That’s everything then,” I remark before hanging up, setting my phone back on the nightstand before pulling on my clothes quickly. Staring at my reflection on the wall mirror, it’s a strange thing to notice but my skin seems tanner against the teal fabric. I’m becoming more aware of my image, I’ve realized, and it haunts me daily. The scariest part is how much weight I’ve lost. I’ve always been a fairly thin guy so anything less is unnecessary. Dr. Payne says it’s normal in the first stages of chemo, not to mention that I was bed ridden for two weeks after my surgery. Mom’s been feeding me bigger meals, mostly because I’m actually hungry now, but I’ve gone from sixty-eight kilograms to sixty-one and that’s unnerving. Louis always jokes about my chicken arms, but they’re really a problem for me.

Now I’m remotely aware of how big this top is on me and I don’t want to even leave this room.

Of course, as if on cue, the doorbell rings and I hear Greg shout a quick “I’ll git it!” and there are loud stomps towards the front door. Sighing, I can hear Harry greet him and I slowly make my way down stairs, shoving my phone in my back pocket and my wallet in the other.

Spotting Harry in the doorway, my eyes first fall on his massive head of curls, then his dimply smile of which is beaming up at me. He’s dressed casually in black skinny jeans and a white shirt with a worn black leather jacket. His curls are casually pushed back and there’s a sudden reaction that my body experiences that I’ve never felt before. I deduce it to a major attraction and brush it off—even though it’s useless—and move down the stairs to greet him.

“You look like a lot better than before. How do you feel though?”

“Is this a doctor’s visit?” I ask rhetorically, hoping he’d catch on that I am only joking.

He doesn’t.

With a brow quirked up, he responds, “Urm… No, I’m just merely asking a question.”

“I’m only joking, Harry,” I return, shaking my head and slightly grinning. “You ready to go?” He nods and I turn to say goodbye to Mom, Dad and Greg, only to get catcalled at by my brother. I pass him the bird as we move outside into the cold and towards Harry’s car. Astoundingly, a sleekly painted silver Audi purrs quietly in the snow stained street. I almost ask how he could have such an expensive car but then I recall his profession and pull my hood over my head lightly so as not to matte my hair down too much. Harry joins my side and opens the passenger door, assisting me inside before shutting the door and heading over to the driver’s side. It’s toasty in the cabin and I don’t even realize I am cold until a sharp shiver releases and then leaves me with a sensation of comfort.

Buckling ourselves in, Harry shifts the car in drive and we head off to wherever he’s decided. Several moments pass in silence and it’s inertly awkward, forcing me to reach for the volume nob but Harry halts me, grabbing my hand lightly and looks me in the eye. We’re silent again and it’s unnerving, my hand is getting clammy and my heart is racing just because he is holding my hand. I pull away from his grasp but don’t lose sight of those mesmerizing olive green eyes who’s pupils resemble a cat’s and I sit there in wonder about how such a hue of eye color exists. Of course there are those with green eyes but to find someone with eyes so beautifully colored is rare. It’s this shade of green, I realize, that I like solely because they’re Harry’s green. They belong to and embody him with their mystery and beauty and obvious appearance of intelligence while sustaining an inkling of a kindred personality.

He’s an enigma and I wish to understand why.

“Niall, have you ever played mini golf?” Harry asks after a while. By now we’ve both looked away from one another, he on the road and I on the dreary cold outside.

I scoff, “Of course I have.”

“How about mini golf in the snow?” I hear him quirk a smile when my body tenses. Glancing at him, I’m almost certain that he’s out of his mind. “Ah, now that grabbed your attention.”

“It’s three feet deep in snow and it’s negative ten degrees Celsius. We’re gonna get sick if we attempt that.”

Shrugging his shoulders he beams another grin filled with dimples. “Good thing I’m a doctor then.”

Arriving at the miniature golf course, the place is completely deserted and I’m wondering why he chose this of all the things we could do. Harry opens the door for me and leads me towards the entrance, his hand against my back, almost hugging me close to him. Heading inside, it’s a lodge decorated like one of the ski lodges up in Mendip Hills and it brutally reminds me of how sick I am and how much I miss being healthy. Greg and I wouldn’t be making our annual trip to go snowboarding this winter and it’s a sad shame.

Harry moves up to the front desk where an orange haired man greets him with a warm smile. He comes around the counter and embraces Harry, patting him on the back. “Harry! It’s so good to see you. When you asked me to open up the resort for today, I almost thought you crazy but,” he wags his finger at him, one eyed closed and smirking deviously. “But I knew you had something up your sleeve. Didn’t think he’d be that cute though,” and I’m certain he’s talking about me but I’m only assuming, even as he meanders over to me. Putting his hand out, I take it cautiously. “The name’s Ed. It’s so good to finally meet you, Niall.”

“Wait, how did you—”

“Well, Harry can’t stop talking about—” Harry quickly swoops over before Ed has a chance to finish and chuckles nervously. “Would you mind getting everything all set up for us?” He asks Ed and the ginger haired man shrugs before hopping to. Harry sighs and appears relieved. “Sometimes my friends will say things that aren’t necessary. Do you want something to drink?” His actions and words give off a feeling of apprehension and it comforts me to know that he’s just as nervous as I am. Nodding, he moves to the counter next to the fireplace. Noticeably, this place appears to be more than just a resort for mini golf and whatnot, it’s a home and it’s cozy.

I settle onto a plush couch, facing the fireplace. Harry’s putting together hot chocolate and is dropping those little marshmallows in carefully so it doesn’t spill. I don’t move to make a comment that I’m diabetic and I should drink it, because sometimes a guy’s gotta indulge a little. He smiles as he walks over to me, mugs in hand effortlessly, and passes along one of the steaming cups. Taking in the chocolaty aroma, I melt into my chair.

“I haven’t had chocolate in so long,” I remark and it’s almost as if Harry’s just recalling that I’m diabetic when his eyes go wide and his face falls. He extends his arm to take the cup from me but I pull back—carefully so as not to spill—and stare him down. “No no. You and I are not a patient and his doctor today, remember?”

Remembering that it is what he asked for, he sighs, slumping back into his place and stares at his mug with a small smirk. “I suppose it’s difficult to remember sometimes that we’re not at the hospital. And I’ve seen the things you eat, so this isn’t going to kill you,” he says mindlessly but pauses at the rim of the cup when he realizes his wording. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

I wave him off. “I have a sense of humor ya know?” Our eyes meet and he appears almost child-like when he understands that I’m all right. ”C’mon, today’s supposed to be fun. Even though I have no idea what we’re doing at a mini golf course in dead winter.”

“I figured we might do something a bit out of the ordinary.”

“I’ll say. I don’t even know how the ball is going to roll across the course with all that snow. Are you sure you aren’t just pulling my leg here?”

Harry chuckles and a shock of tingles spreads throughout my body and straight to my gut. I’m reminded yet again by how attracted to him I am, and it’s almost killer. “Nah, it’s all on an iced course. If you don’t want to do it, then we can always do something else…”

“No no no, let’s do that. Erm… let’s try it. But if it’s too difficult then…” I trail and Harry grins to me.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan then. You ready?” He asks when he catches Ed nodding to him that everything’s all set up for us. I’m nervous, and it’s silly because it’s just mini golf, but I’ve never done anything like this on ice, and if I remember correctly, I’ve never even ice skated before.

We get up and move outside, the lot is all lit up with Christmas lights around the various decorations of the themed courses. It looks like a tiny winter wonderland, and the inner child is jumping in excitement at the idea of doing something new. Harry passes me a putter and a golf ball, looks me straight in the eyes and grins cheekily.

“You ready?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for iced mini golf, but sure,” I retort and his laugh coos in my ears, chilling me warmly yet again. Harry lines himself up at the first course, hits the ball and it swerves to the right sharply, but then bounces against the barrier to shoot into the hole and I’m in utter shock because how in the world did he even make that shot?! “How did you…”

“Lots and lots of practice, doesn’t really help that me, Ed and the lads decided that this was an entertaining game while we’re drunk. Since there’s not much to do in the winter besides stay inside, drinking lots of hot chocolate and eggnog, we came up with something stupidly fun and it somehow works.”

“Ah, I guess when you’re healthy you can do those sorts of things,” I remark, and my ironic sarcasm has become a bit of a habit lately. Morbid comments and juts at those who are healthy are something I just do and I’m realizing the severity of it when I recognize the suddenly forlorn expression on Harry’s face. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I’m just very…”

“Spiteful.” He finishes for me, and it’s a dead-on description of how I am as of late.

I’m hesitant in answering, but ultimately I agree with a simple nod. “Very.”

“Perfectly normal, and understandable in your case,” he’s being sharp with his words and he’s back to the role of being a doctor once again. Glancing to me, he pulls me closer, lining me up with the course quietly guiding his fingers over mine and leading me to grip the putter properly. My cheeks are burning and I’m distinctly aware of my visible embarrassment, not that it matters because he can’t see my face, especially not in the darkened winter like today. “Just relax and aim at the wall. The slope is slippery so we’ll want to give it a small push, but not too much that it’ll fly off the wall,” Harry whispers, his voice low and sexy, his breath warm on my chilled ear. I inhale deeply, let it out slowly and flick my wrist forward, sending the ball up the slope and against the wall smoothly. It misses the hole slightly, but it’s close enough that I can easily slip it inside.

Putting the ball in, I smile, looking to him and I can tell that what I’m feeling is genuine excitement. It seems stupid to allow myself the luxury of being proud for this simple feat, but I am, and Harry appears overjoyed by my reaction. ”I didn’t know that I could feel so fulfilled by something so trivial.”

“Life is full of things we don’t know, but learning them is the exciting part,” he comments and I shake my head.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” Harry’s eyes are wide and he’s inquisitive.

“Always act all philosophical. Is it because you’re a doctor that you do that, or is it natural?” I’m joking of course, but I’ve noticed that he doesn’t tend to take them as such, as he is doing right now. “Or, erm… Maybe I should just keep my thoughts to myself.”

“Please don’t. I want to know what’s on your mind,” he pleads and my heart literally feels as if it’s melting. How can one go from completely masculine to adorably childish in one split second? I don’t know if I’ll ever find that answer, but it warms me somehow and I completely forget that we’re standing in the dead of winter, surrounded by frothy snow and he appears an enigma within the shadows of the sunless day. I completely forget about my cancer, that I’ll never truly be able to be full again. I forget that I may never experience having a family, or true love or any of that, because he’s here, right here, staring at me with those mysterious green eyes that delve into the inner workings of my soul and everything seems right. He seems right for me. “Do you want to get some food? Warm up a bit?” Harry asks, breaking me out of the small daydream I’m experiencing.

“Food sounds great right now. Maybe some more hot chocolate if the doctor says it’s okay,” I smile, Harry wraps his arms around my waist and we head back inside and towards the car.

Thoughtfully, he hums. “Well, I don’t see why not. As long as you eat your vegetables.”

We laugh.

xxx

Arriving at the restaurant, it’s thriving with multitudes of hungry patrons, slurping down the food as if there isn’t any left in the world. From the look of it, everything is quite delicious, and seems to be rather expensive and I glance to Harry, curious as to why he would take me to such a fancy place where he could easily wine and dine me anywhere and it wouldn’t matter, I’d still like him all the more. Yet, when the maître d greets Harry like a long lost friend, I realize that he knows the owner of this place too. He’s an older man, with scruffy facial hair, a wide smile and well quaffed hair. His mannerisms are proper, yet his stature is quite hunched.

Harry introduces him as Nick and we shake hands cordially, but I don’t say much.

“Quiet fellow, is he?”

“Sometimes, just got to get past his barrier,” Harry quims and I shrug, observing the place. Nick grabs two menus and leads us towards a booth in the back, secluded from the loud ambience of the restaurant.

“Rita’s going to be serving you today, would you like something to drink?”

“Waters fine,” Harry answers.

“Make that two,” I squeak, then clear my throat rather embarrassedly. Harry chuckles. “Don’t be rude, I’m going through puberty still.” It’s a joke and this time, he takes it as such, giving off another laugh.

Nick bows slightly as he takes his leave, “Your server will be right with you. Enjoy.” When he’s out of ear shot, I lean across the table and whisper, “Is it just me or was he giving me the stank eye?”

Harry shrugs wantonly, as if he didn’t even notice, which I know he did. “He’s just wary of who I date sometimes is all. Best friends do that sort of thing and all.”

My jaw drops. “Best friend? Oh god. Am I meeting all of your mates today?”

He smiles, but doesn’t say anything when our server arrives. She’s blonde with big red lips and black lined eyes. Her skin is tanned and her posture is almost perfect. “Hello boys.” She greets kindly, setting our waters down before us. “Have you been able to take a look at the menus for what you want?”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry love, haven’t the chance yet.” Harry rests his chin on his palm and grins up at her. It’s like he’s entranced by her beauty and it sickens me to my stomach for some odd reason. “However, had you the chance to see mum lately? She misses you about the house.”

Rita appears almost guilty. “I’ve been far too busy as of late. But I’ll swing by Anne’s after work if she gives me the okay. How’s she doing since the—” when she realizes I’m still here she suddenly stops mid-sentence. “Anyways,” she sighs excitedly. “Have a look and I’ll be back in a few.”

I’m speechless. In the course of a little under three hours, I have met three friends of Harry’s that seem to be of significance and I’m too afraid to ask about them. Nor can I ask what happened that Rita seemed to be so hushed about. So I just stare at him as he glances over the menu, trying to decide what he wishes to eat. I’m not particularly hungry, which is an oddity because before all of the cancer and whatnot, I would eat like no other. Food was literally my favorite pastime and now it’s a necessity, something that I need but don’t want to participate in.

“Are you going to order anything?” Harry asks after a while and I shake myself out of my thoughts, noticing that he was looking right at me.

I don’t want to tell him of not wanting to eat because I really would rather him not be my doctor for the night. So I lie. “Oh, umm. I don’t really know what I want.”

“I haven’t seen you once open the menu. So are you sure that you don’t know what you want or are you just not hungry?” He pries and I sigh because he caught me.

“I’m really not hungry. Besides, even if I were, I don’t think I’d really want to get anything. It’s all so expensive.”

Harry scoffs, “I don’t think it particularly matters the cost. But if it’ll settle your stomach, Nick owns the place and I don’t really have to pay a sterling if I wanted to skip out on the bill.”

“I don’t know if that really helps, but I get it. You’re in because he’s your mate.”

“Precisely. So why don’t you take the free meal on me? After all, we are on a date, hm?” Harry sips from the water cup, his big green eyes looking at me over the rim of the glass.

I’m certain I’m blushing from the intense heat radiating about the apples of my cheeks and I want to shy away but I can’t because he’s so enchanting. “Y-Yes,” I stutter and feel like a complete idiot for losing my speech. He only chuckles at me wholeheartedly.

“You’re adorable. Probably my biggest attraction to you.” Harry admits easily. “Another thing I like about you is how strong of a person you are and have been, despite what life has thrown at you.”

“More like, thrown up on me,” I remark. Harry smirks.

“And maybe your sense of humor, although it’s a bit morbid and dry at times, I can see a spirit still lit, it’s faded, but it’s there and I want to help reignite it,” he pauses. “If you’ll allow me the honor.”

I stare at him for what seems like ages in complete silence, unable to give him a proper response since I have no idea how to even process the information given to me. I’m on minute nine when I choose to finally give a reply when there’s a loud crash from the west side of the restaurant. Shooting my eyes in that direction—everything is in slow motion just like in the movies—and witness a car heading front first into the throng of diners scrambling to get to safety. It crash lands into the centered bar destroying everything in its pathway. The driver is out cold—possibly dead—his forehead bleeding from the crown and pressed against the steering wheel whose airbag has failed to deploy. Harry rushes to the scene, herding others out of the way so he can get to the girl caught under the chassis of the car.

Observing his mannerisms, he’s a true blue doctor, the concern flush across his face, the fear in his eyes because he knows he’s going to lose this girl’s life. She’s coughing on her own blood, and he’s shouting to call 911. Nick is on the phone and Rita is pressed to his chest, hiding her sobs into the fabric. In the rush of everything that’s happening, I only hear Harry and the girl. I can hear her sobs and chokes as she clings to life even though it’s futile. I can hear him mewling soft words to her, telling her she’s going to be all right even though he knows better than that. By the time the paramedics arrive, everyone has cleared out and there’s nothing but rubble surrounding us. Water pipes have broken and spilled about the lot and Nick is practically ripping his hair out in frustration of losing his restaurant. Rita’s cooing something about how they have insurance and everything will be fine, but I can tell that none of that matters. It won’t ever be the same for them.

And that’s something I can understand completely.

Dodging the rubble carefully I make my way over to Harry and the girl and it apparent that she’s in her last moments. Her jagged breathing has slowed and she’s looking up to Harry, eyes soft yet dull. “Everything’s going to be fine. See? The paramedics are here to take you to the hospital where you’ll get better,” Harry whispers gently to her, moving her blood stained bangs from her forehead. It’s like watching a father and his child, and it’s heartbreaking. I can see the sadness in Harry’s eyes as he watches the life disappear from her, those slow breaths halting, her tears quieting and drying on her bloodied cheeks and Harry’s stifled sobs as he attempts to contain his composure.

The EMTs rush over to push the car from her still body, settling her onto a stretcher where she’s zipped up in a body bag and taken away silently. Harry’s a muted enigma, his sights trained on the ambulance as it drives away. Stepping to his side, I nudge him softly. He gazes over to me, his eyes void of all of that energy and usual excitement. Nick moves towards us and pats Harry’s shoulder, Rita rubs his arm comfortingly, but he doesn’t respond.

“I’m going to take him home. Are you coming with?” He asks me and I nod. I don’t think I would under normal circumstances, but Harry’s so shook up that leaving might not be the best thing to do.

xxx

Getting to Harry’s flat, it’s a modest place and it’s quite modern with massive glass windows overlooking the city skyline. There are two stories and a garage at the bottom that Nick parks for Harry. We help him inside, the silent mystery he still is, and settle him onto the couch.

“He’s had quite a scare, seeing that girl die,” Nick begins once we move to the kitchen to get something to drink. He pulls two waters from the fridge and passes me one. “He’s not used to death yet, not even after his sister.” He finishes, drinking from the plastic bottle as if he’s said nothing of importance.

My heart drops. “Wait, his sister died?”

“About three years ago. Cancer, pancreatic. She only lived a year after diagnosis,” Nick explains calmly, staring off to the living room at the head of curls that is sitting so silently. “He was the last person she said goodbye to. It’s really what led him to become a cancer doctor, really.” At this point I can assume that Nick has no idea I’m one of Harry’s patients and that I in fact have the same cancer that took his sister. “I don’t think I should’ve told you about her, but I suppose that eventually you would learn to know the same information, if you stick around that is.” He closes the water bottle and heads downstairs and towards the door. I follow him quickly and he glances over his shoulder. “Take care of him. Give him whatever he asks for. I’m going to call Ed and have him come over in the morning. I left my number on the counter for you if you need me for anything.”

He leaves and I head back into the living room, settling onto the couch next to Harry, looking over him silently. He’s breathing slowly, eyes wide open and dull, but staring at nothing in particular. I think to break him out of his shock, but decide that maybe it’s not the right thing to do. I’m shocked, though, when he finally moves, sighing as he does and pulls me into his arms, holding me against his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

“Hear that? That’s the sound of a scared man.” Harry murmurs. Gazing up at him, his head is bowed and he appears almost disgusted with himself.

“Everyone gets scared every once and a while.”

“But I’m a doctor. Doctor’s don’t get scared.”

I lift myself from his grasp and meet his eyes firmly. “We’re only human. So what if you get scared. It’s normal and completely natural.”

“Not for me. I cannot break under pressure, not like this, but I just saw her dying and begging for life and I couldn’t give it to her and it just reminded me of Gemma and I just…” his voice trails, and he buries his face in his palms, unable to say anything further.

“Gemma…” I whisper and he glances over his fingers, his line of sight passing over me. “Is… Was she your sister?” He doesn’t say anything but I can tell by the look on his face that I’m right. “I’m really… I’m so sorry, Harry,” instinctively, I rub my hand over his back, circling my palm against the fabric of his shirt and he falls into my lap with a sigh.

“You’re the first person that I feel like I want to open up to and that’s crazy because we only know surface information about each other.” He mumbles, and then plays with a loose string on his jacket. “But I like you. You’re quiet, and that’s understandable, more than understandable in fact, but I hope that one day you’ll come to like me too.”

“I do,” I answer quickly and it takes him by surprise. “More than I thought I ever would, especially because of our circumstances.” He doesn’t say a word, only passes me a look that I cannot decipher. “You remember when you told me that you want to know what’s on my mind.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what’s on yours?”

Harry exudes an expression of deep thought, the muscles on his face contorting while he thinks about what his next move is. I figure that he’s going to say something substantial, something that’ll be completely intellectual and yet almost irrelevant to the topic but he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. Leaning towards me, his hand brushes over mine, and he softly rests his forehead to my temple and gives an elongated sigh. “There is only one thing on my mind, and in my frame of mind, I’m not entirely certain it’s the smartest thing to do.”

“Only do the things that you feel is right.”

He looks me dead in the eye, those long eyelashes tickling the ridge of my brow. His stare is esoteric. I’m perplexed. The world is spinning around me but I’m stationary. Nothing feels more exciting than this moment right now and I’m not certain as to why until he does it. The one thing I thought I would never in my limited lifetime get the pleasure to experience.

Harry Styles leans in, presses his lips to mine, and pulls me into a world unknown.


	5. Chapter 5

I sit here for hours, trying to make sense of everything that just happened today. The most complex highlight of the day is in fact that questionable kiss. Whether he did it because he likes me or because he’s vulnerable, I do not know. What I do know is that a kiss shouldn’t be so confusing, especially not like this. But here I am, sitting silently on Harry’s couch, running my fingers through his chocolate curls, listening to his soft snores while he sleeps. Here I sit, pondering over why this is such a big deal and why I cannot just accept that someone as wonderful, yet broken, as Harry can actually like me. There is no reason for it to be a mystery, but it is.

Louis texts me at three.

Louis: Soooo, how was the big date?

Me: Unexpectedly extraordinary.

Louis: Details! Now!

Me: Not much to really say. Still confused though.

Louis: Bout what?

Me: There was a freak accident at the restaurant tonight. A girl died in Harry’s arms. We took him back to his house and then he kissed me.

Louis: Wait, you’re at his house?

Me: Out of all of that, you only got that I’m at his house? *sigh* yes. I’m still here actually. But I can’t wrap my finger around this kiss.

Louis: What’s to really figure out? It’s just a kiss.

Me: I know, I know, but it’s Harry, Lou. What if he only kissed me because he was vulnerable and just wanted comfort?

Louis: Be thankful he chose you. He must like you if the thought of kissing you crosses his mind, no matter what state he’s in.

Me: Idk Lou…

Louis: Just accept the kiss will ya? Thank god you finally had it! How was it? :D

Me: :/ really, all you seem to care about lately is my love life. If one existed.

Louis: It’s existing now! Which is why I care about it! So spill. Did you like it?

I stare at the screen on the phone and think about that kiss. It’s still fresh on my lips, the way that he softly pressed against mine, inviting me in closer to him, breathing him in as if there’s nothing else that’ll sustain my life. I can still distinguish the taste of him, mixed with strawberries and his bath soap. There are remnants of lip balm on his mouth and it makes me smile. He makes me smile, and all I want to do is kiss him again.

Louis: ???

I chuckle, tapping at the keys to return the text.

Me: It was amazing. Couldn’t have imagined it be that wonderful.

Louis: As long as he’s not a slobberer then we’re in the clear. Did you tell your mum where you are?

Shit, I didn’t think about that. I grip my hair in anguish, wracking my brain on what to tell her. I don’t want to lie to her but I don’t want to tell her I’m at my doctor’s house playing doctor. God knows what she’ll do if she finds out I stayed the night here.

Louis: you could always tell her you stayed at my house.

Me: Idk if I want to lie.

Louis: She’s going to kill you regardless. Might as well tell her something that won’t get you in as much trouble as you’ll be.

Me: I’m 19. I feel emasculated.

Louis: You should. She treats you like a kid. But that’s for other reasons…

Me: Yeah yeah… idk what I’ll do. I’ll let you know if I lie to her.

Louis: Okay. You goin to bed?

Me: Yeah, I’m pretty beat. I’ll talk to you later.

Louis: Kay. Night~ Don’t get frisky, kay?

I roll my eyes with a smirk and set the phone to the side. Watching Harry in his sleep is like watching a baby dream. It’s subtle and sweet and my urge to kiss him returns again and I groan in anguish, looking away as to not tempt myself. He stirs in his sleep, sitting up slowly with his back facing me and I wonder how long it’s going to take for him to realize I’m still here.

It’s almost instant when he replies groggily. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“No, but I thought I might. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

He sighs and glances over his shoulder. “You didn’t need to do that. Your mum is going to worry about you.”

“I know, but that’s irrelevant right this second. What happened back there? You just… it was like you went somewhere else and then that kiss—” I start but halt when he whips himself around and looks to me with wild eyes.

“Wait, I kissed you?”

There’s a deafening silence in the house and I’m barely fixated on anything but him. He didn’t even know that he did what he did and now I feel like a complete idiot. I kind of want to cry but I push that down, regardless of how much my heart is hurting in this moment. Harry stares at me, waiting for me to answer but I don’t.

“Niall, please don’t shut me out. I really don’t remember a thing from last night. It’s a complete blank after that girl died in my arms.” His expression of distraught is genuine and I want more than anything to be mad but I can’t.

“I guess it was so traumatic that you just blocked everything out. Makes sense. I just…” I run a hand through my hair, not caring about the style any longer. “I wish you hadn’t kissed me.”

Harry’s silent. “That… really hurts.” He admits softly, looking away from me, his expression filled with pain. “I can’t remember that I did it but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been on my mind since the day I met you.” My chest tightens and I swear my heart just dropped. I’m staring at him and all I see is hurt on his face and I caused that. I think I know why I haven’t bothered to pursue any sort of relationship.

It’s because they’re too painful. Someone will hurt someone eventually, I just happen to be premature and have bad timing. ”Harry… I’m sorry. I really should just keep a majority of my thoughts to myself.”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. I would be upset too if you didn’t remember that we shared our first kiss.” He replies understandingly. Long fingers brush over pink lips. “Wish I could remember that bit.” Harry smirks. “I can’t imagine it because I’m certain it felt more amazing than any feeble thought.”

That tingling feeling returns to my stomach and quickly I react like I think I should and grab his face, turn him to me and press my lips to his, breathing him in just as he had. He’s hesitant at first, but slowly his hand wanders down my arm and moves to the back of my neck, pulling me closer and deeper into the kiss. All I hear is the jagged breaths between kisses, the sound of lips smacking softly and a low moan emitting from Harry’s throat as my hand instinctively reaches into the collar of his shirt. My fingers run across defined collar bones and over a toned back and I notice that our actions are almost desperate. Desperate to touch each other more, kiss longer and harder and inch one another closer than humanly possible. It’s everything our first kiss was and more and by the time we’re pulling apart for air, I already want to go back in for another.

Gasping, Harry’s eyes wander across my face and he’s pressing his hands against the couch next to both sides of my head. I didn’t even realize that we’d lain against the cushions, but I suppose something like this is perfectly natural not to notice. “That was… Wow,” is all Harry can muster through his inhales and he smiles at me. “If this was what our first kiss was like, I want to do that more often.”

I laugh, running my hands over my face as I give a yawn. Looking at the time on my phone, it’s about four in the morning and I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to tell Mom. Groaning, I shut my eyes in aggravation. “Mum is going to kill me for staying out so late. And I can’t tell her I stayed here otherwise she’ll flip. Guess I’m going to lie,” I murmur and Harry looks to me curiously.

“Lie about what?”

“Where I was the whole night. I’ll just tell her that I went to Louis’ after dinner and ended up passing out.” I explain and Harry nods, glancing away before getting off the couch and heading towards the kitchen, scratching his head of curls. Sitting up, I peer up over the head of the leather furniture and pan my eyes across his body, admiring the way he looks just being him. He’s tall, way tall, and skinny but in a muscular way. It’s strange, I usually don’t find thin guys attractive, but on Harry it’s just hot. “I still don’t understand…”

Harry’s in the kitchen, partially hidden by a row of cabinets but I can tell that he’s making coffee. He doesn’t bother to look of his shoulder when he calls, “Don’t understand what?”

“Why you picked me.” I answer simply. This seems to grab his attention as he’s staring directly at me with those big green eyes and his pink lips appear red in the dimmed lighting of the loft.

After a moment of thinking about it, he finally returns, “Well, it’s quite simple really.”

“How so?”

He closes the door to the water trap in the coffee maker and heads back into the living room, leaning over the top of the couch, only inches from me. With a smile, he explains, “Because you’re quite simply the most honest man I’ve ever met and nothing in this world will ever stop you from being you. It’s a bonus that you’re adorable.” Harry pokes the tip of my nose with a chuckle and I’m awed.

As he begins towards the kitchen again, I grab his wrist and he turns to me curiously. “What happens if… If you fall in love with me?”

All of these sudden questions seem to confuse him. I know that most people live for the present, but I only have so much of that before I’m gone, and I want to have more than just the one reason to fight so I can see my future. If I fall in love with Harry—which definitely seems to be in the cards at present—I want to be able to see the day when he falls in love with me. If we ever decide to live together, I want to be healthy enough to move our stuff in. If we ever decide to get a new TV, I want to be able to figure out how to put it together, or make him dinner just to show him that I can because he’s going to be exhausted after a day at the hospital. I want to be able to be there for as long as possible.

I really don’t know how much longer I have on this planet, but I do know that I want to spend every breathtaking second with Harry for as long as I am able. I don’t want to be stuck in that stupid bed for my entirety. I want to live, and I want to live life with him.

“If I fall in love with you? There’s no question on if I will. It’s when I fall in love with you,” Harry responds. My chest is in a flurry of nervously fast heartbeats and it’s pounding in my ears, prominent and anxiously there. That sweet dimply smile returns to his face and he leans down to press those plump lips to mine, breathing me in strongly, caressing my cheek with his thumb. We pull apart, and I feel weakened, numbed from the kiss. There’s the ghostly sensation of his mouth against mine and it’s astonishing. “When I fall in love with you, nothing else will matter. In fact, right now it’s taking everything I have not to ask you to live with me because I know that’s crazy, we’ve only just begun. But Niall, no matter what, I will take care of you, I will treat you with the utmost respect and I will always protect you.”

“Wow,” is all I can whisper. He laughs.

xxx

 

The walk home is almost awkwardly quiet, but it mostly has to do with how nervous I am to face Mom. I usually tell her when I’m staying at a friend’s, but when I’m in Harry’s presence, it’s so surreal and ethereal that I guess I didn’t really pay much mind to the idea of checking in with her. Louis is going on and on about what him and Zayn did all day, and I realize that I’ve been completely out of tune with my friends. Harry has consumed every inch of my attention and that’s almost terrifying. “Did you hear what I just said?”

Shaking out of my thoughts, I look to him dumbfounded. “No, sorry. What’d you say?”

“Eleanor and I broke up last night.” His voice is grave and taking a glance over him, I can tell he’s been crying all night. We stop in the middle of the sidewalk and I face him, hands resting on his shoulders and all I want to do is hug him because actually seeing the heart break on his face is enough to make me want to cry.

Louis isn’t a crier. He’s the strongest guy I know.

“What… What happened?”

He glances down at his feet somberly, appearing as if he doesn’t want to admit the truth, but he does regardless. “She said that she could never be in love with someone who could never put her first.”

“Wait… that’s not true though. You always put Eleanor first. You love her more than anything.”

He smirks, “Funny. Zayn said the same thing too, but… that’s just not the case.”

“What do you mean?”

Louis shakes his head with a sigh and gazes towards the east. He goes through a series of quiet moments, biting his bottom lip, closing his eyes in thought, and all the motions that express how conflicted his night had truly been for him. Giving one last sigh, Louis glances down to the hem of his shirt, tugs at it and then meets my eyes tenderly. “How do you tell your best friend that you’re in love with him, ya know?” At first, it dawns on me that Louis is talking about me, but then thinking about it twice, I realize that all of this time, he’s always loved Zayn. I suppose I had noticed how he acts around him here and there, but I really have been a horrible friend if I’ve fazed myself out of the equation enough that I can’t see when my own best friend is at a crucial stage in life. I mean, one day you believe that you’re all of these things and then the next something or someone creates such an impact on your life that you finally understand that every little societal contradiction doesn’t matter anymore because that’s just not you. Louis is at a pivotal moment in his life where it could go anywhere and lead to disaster.

But like I said before, he’s the strongest guy I know.

“Sometimes… it’s as easy as one, two, three.” I answer and Louis slightly smirks at me. “Just tell Zayn how you feel; I’m sure it’s not as difficult as you’re making it out to be. You never know, maybe he feels the same way.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“You know that no matter what, Zayn will always care about you, right?” I ask him. It’s almost rhetorical, but when he simply nods a yes, that’s enough for me to accept that he’ll be all right.

“Niall James Horan! Where in God’s name have you been!” Mom yells the second she hears the door creak open. I wince from the sudden screech of her voice and then duck when she stomps out of the kitchen and into the living room to greet Louis and I at the front door. She’s got her yellow plaid apron wrapped around her waist, there’s smudges of flour on her face and a wooden spoon in her left hand that is wantonly caressing her hip. Mom’s eyes are wide and crazed as she leers at me, practically burning through my soul. “Answer me now young man, you had me worried sick!”

“I’m sorry Mom, I—”

“He was at my house. It got late and we forgot to call. I’m sorry Mrs. Horan,” Louis steps in and I’m taken back by the sudden profession. It’s such an obvious lie, but she somehow seems to take it. For some reason, Mom’s always had a great respect for Louis. The funny part about it all is that he’s the one that gets me in the most trouble. Who knew he’d be getting me out of it this time.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Mom wraps me in a hug and sighs into my shoulder and I’m innately aware just how much taller I am compared to her. When did I get to be so tall? “Oh honey, I’m sorry for freaking out. I was just so concerned when I saw the footage of that freak accident last night on the news. I saw a glimpse of you in the background and how heroic Harry was staying with that girl until the very end.” Wait a minute. That was actually shot on film and shown on the news? I don’t even remember the cameras or any reporters or anything. I must’ve really just blocked everything but Harry out.

“I had just barely caught him leaving the restaurant when I met up with Niall. We took Harry home and then went back to my place cuz it was closer and ended up crashing.”

“You still should’ve called but I’m glad you’re safe, Niall.”

And that was it, Louis had single handedly pulled off lying to my mother and I didn’t even ask him to. Once she begins heading towards the kitchen to continue baking, I turn to Louis and he flashes me an all too knowing grin.


	6. Chapter 6

You ever have one of those dreams where you feel like you’re falling? Or that dream where you’re being chased by a killer or by death and you end up waking up the moment that you’ve been shot or whatever? This was sort of like one of those dreams. I’m on a ship, sailing the Atlantic and a storm hits. The crew is shuffling about the deck in a hurried rush to secure all of our items. I’m at a standstill, watching the scene go by and I realize that my body is heavy with fear, the hair on my arms are sticking up and curling over. I begin to sweat and my shaky body starts to sway with the rocking of the boat and suddenly, I’m falling over the edge. I want to scream but find myself unable to. The water is cold and it burns my skin when I make contact. I know that I’m drowning, but I can’t move to swim up to the surface, nothing in my body is working properly and I’m scared. I inhale the salt water and my lungs are instantly on fire.  
The feeling of being unable to save myself is the scariest thing I’ve had to endure and I just want to wake from this dream, but I don’t. Shutting my eyes, I succumb to my fate, accepting there’s no way to safety and that’s when I find myself in a bed, choking on my own mucus. There’s a doctor patting my back, trying to force the ick back up. I spit it out, gasping harshly for oxygen. Opening my eyes, I start to recognize where I am. I just cannot remember when I went to the hospital.

Mom has her arms around me, rambling on about how she thought I was going to die and I’m left with no words, no strength to find them. Glancing over her shoulders, my eyes first meet Liam’s. He’s calm and neutral but given off a smile that’s clearly faked. Then the next person I see is Harry as he’s walking into my room, green eyes wide with fear and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath.

“I heard that you were awake and I came as soon as I could.” Harry gasps through breaths.

Turning to face him, Liam nods, flipping through some papers on his clipboard as usual. “I’m so glad that you’re true to your patient, especially at three in the morning, Harry.” He and I exchange nervous glances before looking back to Liam. “Shows promise in your career, but maybe you should live a bit closer in order to make it to the hospital in time.”

“Yes, I’ve been looking into finding a place closer,” Harry murmured, relaxing his hands behind his back. For some reason he looks utterly flushed and I wonder if it has to do with New Years. Actually, it’s been three days since we’ve gotten the chance to talk. I’ve been bed ridden and sleeping and he’s been busy at work. Louis’ been nagging me about it, but I continue to brush him off like it means nothing. The fact of the matter is that Harry is an adult with adult things to do and I’m just his sickly boyfriend.

Wait.

Can I even call myself his boyfriend? He hasn’t exactly asked me to go steady or anything. So wouldn’t that make me presumptuous? Before I know it, Mom is saying goodbye and that she’ll see me later that day and Liam’s escorting her out of the room and now Harry and I are all alone and I’m nervous and my palms are sweaty and oh god, do I smell like death or am I imagining that? I want to smell my armpits but Harry’s here and that’s embarrassing and wow, his eyes look really pretty in this dim lighting and oh my god Niall, get a hold of yourself!

I grin sheepishly as he approaches me, settling onto the seat next to the bed and slowly reaches for my hand, fingers softly intertwining with mine. “I’m sorry I haven’t called lately.”

“It’s fine,” I whisper and he brings my hand to his lips, kisses the back of my hand before leading it to press against his heart. My eyes wander over his visage, unsure of what he’s getting at by this gesture.

“Do you feel that?” I do. His heart is racing like a mad horse and it suddenly dawns on me that mine is doing the same. I give a nervous nod, looking over him curiously, waiting for him to say something else. He bites at a fingernail, getting at his worn cuticles after a while of uneasily sitting on the stool. Harry’s not looking at me and I’m worried I really screwed things up. “When Liam told me that you were rushed in, I thought maybe you had a relapse and I was so scared.” He sighs, shuts his eyes and bows his head. “I don’t know what I’d do if you…” His voice trails and I gently settle my hand onto his shoulder and slowly lead it to caress his cheek tenderly. This coaxes him to look up at me, his eyes threatening to spill tears.

“Harry, I’m not going anywhere for a long time, I promise,” I try to reassure him. He nods, but his eyes tell me that he’s unsure of that. I don’t particularly blame him for having doubt, I am going to die eventually, but for some reason the human race depends on someone telling them that everything will be all right in the end.

Even though we know that all outcomes lead to death at some point.

There’s an intense silence that deafens the room. Harry and I look at one another as if there is no one else and that chills me to the bone. Falling in love with him is definitely in the cards, I’m just wondering when I’m going to fully realize it. It’s a strange thought to ponder, but how does one truly know they love someone? Is it by the way that they move? Their mannerisms and how often you think about them that defines it? Or is it how no matter what anyone tries to do, they’re the first and last thing you think of throughout the day? What if love is only a concept forged by those trying to market meeting their “soul mate” and it’s not truly something that one experiences?

There are so many doubts in my mind on just one little subject and it’s driving me crazy. I wonder if it’s doing the same for Harry.

“I promise,” I repeat and he only nods again, squeezes his eyes shut and releases a determined tear. As it rolls down his cheek, I press my lips to the tear, and trail my kisses down his face to meet his lips tenderly. He’s hesitant at first but leans into the kiss desperately, his strong hands grappling at my neck and up the back of my hair, tugging lightly. Our tongues clash and it’s like a torrent of sparks that ignite in my mouth reminding me of my insanely strong attraction to this man. Stray hands brush over his smock, slowly beginning to unbutton them until there’s a curt knock at the door, interrupting my hazy thoughts and sending my hands down to my sides.

Harry quickly scoots away from me, clearing his throat nervously. “Come in.”

Surprisingly, Louis and Zayn step inside the room and I’m actually wondering what time it is because visiting hours aren’t until nine the morning. “What time is it?” I ask

“It’s seven at night, Ni,” Zayn answers and I’m awed. How long had I been hospitalized? The last thing I remember is going to Louis’ New Year’s party. I had been waiting for Harry all night, convinced by Louis that I was to lose my virginity that night. I was ready, or at least I think I was, but I was relying a lot on liquid courage and probably drank more than what my body can handle because after my—I want to say my fourth cup of jack and coke—everything is a complete blank. What really happened? It’s as if Zayn can read my mind as he begins to explain, “You collapsed at the party Ni, and then your body started to seizure. We were lucky that Harry got there within seconds of you collapsing otherwise I don’t think we would’ve made it to the hospital as quick as we did.”

“Seizure?” This question is directed at Harry. As happy as I am to hear that he actually showed up after I had been calling and texting him countless times, I’m more interested as to why I went into cardiac arrest. He moves over to the clipboard on the wall, glances over it and turns back to me. He appears grave and I’m nervous to know why, but I ask anyways. “What’s wrong with me? I mean, besides my preexisting problems.”

There’s a sliver of confliction in his expression. Harry avoids my stare for as long as possible before he looks me dead in the eyes and answers, “We’ve found another tumor. It’s in your brain.”

“What?” Louis juts up from his perch against the wall and moves over to Harry. “Are you fucking serious? He can’t have more cancer can he?”

Harry holds a hand up and says calmly, “It’s a possibility but we haven’t been able to test to see if it’s malignant or not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

There are tears forming quickly in Louis’ eyes, Zayn moves to reach for his hand but he swats him away. “Fix him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fix him right now!” He makes a move like he’s going to hit Harry but Zayn intervenes, wrapping his arms across his chest into a hug and the boy begins to weep. Louis buries his face into Zayn’s shoulder and cries, his own shoulders failing him as they begin to shake maddeningly. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair. Oh god why Niall? It’s not fair.”

I want nothing more than to get up and comfort him but I can barely move my weakened body. I turn to Harry again and by now he appears like he’s about to cry himself, but he only gets up and heads out of the room away from the tension. My mouth opens to try to yell at him to stay but it’s too late and he’s gone. Sighing, I bow my head, clenching my teeth in frustration and fight the tears. I can’t cry about this, there is no point. I resigned my fate to die and all this means is that I’m going to die sooner, but Louis’ crying and Zayn trying to calm him down is threatening my eyes to drown in tears. I want them to leave but I don’t want to be alone.

Who really wants to be alone in the end?

xxx

Three days ago, New Years Eve

There’s a knock at my door and it startles me from my thoughts. Within seconds, Louis and Zayn are trudging through my door, not bothering to wait for me to welcome them in. I’m used to it though. Louis hops on my bed and lies on his back. “You really need a bigger bed,” he remarks.

“You always say that.”

“Yeah, but Ni. Look it, your bed is a bloody twin! You should upgrade if you’re going to, you know,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and I shake my head before shoving him off the bed.

Chuckling, I reply, “Then maybe you should invest in a smaller ego, and give me six hundred quid to get me that bed you want me to get so badly.”

“What’s Harry gonna think with you having such a tiny bed,” he pops up from the floor with a smarmy grin on his playful face. I look away from him, embarrassed by the lewd thoughts that are suddenly roaming my mind. Sure, I’ve had plenty of thoughts about him and I having sex, but those are just that, thoughts. I don’t foresee that becoming a reality any time soon if I’m being realistic. “Aha! See, you’ve been thinking about him lately. I knew it!”

“Give him a break, mate. Niall’s new to this kind of stuff,” Zayn defends half-heartedly. The gesture is appreciated but unnecessary. I roll my eyes and play with the toes of my feet, keeping my sights away from the others. “Anyways, what are the plans this time? The beach, or are we going to trash your parents flat again?”

Louis rubs his chin in thought, ice blue eyes wandering the bedroom curiously. “I was thinking we include Dr. Styles in our little shindig tonight.” At this point, my embarrassment has to be showing because I know exactly what is going through Louis’ mischievous mind.

“Remember that I’m not exactly one hundred percent healthy, Lou,” I remind with a scolding tone of voice. He shrugs his shoulders and waves me off.

“Pfft, not like I could really get you into anything that’ll harm you.” Zayn and I both lean over and give him a look. “Okay, okay, maybe I can,” he admits, gesturing his hands downwards as to signal for us to chill. “But! At least I know what is fun and what is not! And Niall!” Louis abruptly stands and points at me. “I vow that you shall lose your virginity before the year starts over.”

Okay, if I were drinking something right now, I’d do exactly like in the movies and spray it all over Louis just in spite of him, but I’m not, and I don’t know how to react other than to allow my jaw to drop surprisingly. While the subject of my virginity has been one Louis cannot possibly go long intervals without reminding me of, I don’t exactly have a want to just give it up with the next guy I date. At present, Harry would be someone I’d be absolutely thrilled to be with, but we’ve only just met not a month and a half ago. “It’s not like I can just go up to Harry and be like, “Take my virginity!” and he’d be completely on board with it. He’s my doctor first and foremost and he’s going to worry about my health.” I try to argue.

“Sex is good for you. It promotes heart health and gets your body working. Not to mention it feels right well so technically you’re also stimulating your brain since it has to work to send the neurons to signal that “Hey, I’m having an orgasm”. Not only that, but it’s a wonderful stress reliever.” Zayn and I are speechless. Literally, it’s not that we don’t have anything to say, but the fact that Louis is so caught on convincing me to have sex is the shocking part.

Sighing, I run a hand through my messy morning hair and shut my eyes in thought. I’m not entirely certain that I’m prepared for sex in general. Sure, it sounds exciting, but it’s scary too. And I’m not sure I’d want to lose my virginity to Harry before he and I even decide that we’re together. Even after that night, just because we shared a kiss doesn’t automatically make us a couple.

This isn’t the movies after all.

I slowly rise from my perch on the bed and head over to my dresser to pull out clean clothes. They came over before I had the opportunity to take a shower, so they’re just gonna have to deal with me getting ready. Although it might just take me an hour to do so.

That’s what they get for arriving prematurely.

“Where are you going?” Louis asks nosily and I shrug.

“Just because I’m one of the dying doesn’t mean I want to smell like it,” I joke, but the fact remains that my condition is still fairly recent news, so I shouldn’t be surprised when I see the suddenly sad expressions on their faces. “Oh… I meant that jokingly ya know.”

Zayn sighs, turning away from me. “It’s still fresh for us. The fact that you’ll one day…” his somber voice trails deafeningly and I can’t help but feel a pain of regret.

“Yeah mate, I don’t think that we’ll ever get over all of this,” Louis adds and that hits home. “If I can’t find any sort of humor in it, then I don’t think anyone ever will.” He has a very good point and I feel awful. It’s almost like how on Christmas morning when all you’ve been wanting is that cool bike you saw in the toy store and all you’re expecting is to see that Santa’s given it to you but then you come to find out that it’s just a little toy robot that although it’s cool, isn’t what you thought to see. Maybe I’m just hoping to wake up from this nightmare to find that it’s just the day of the championship and I’m prepared to win. Yet, that’s not reality, I know because I’ve tried countless times to wake myself from this hell.

When I actually dream, it is always about my death. No one knows this of course, because they worry enough about me as it is. I want to say something to relax them, but I have nothing to say and I realize that I do and say some pretty stupid things. Bowing my head I sigh, “I’m sorry guys. I’m pretty insensitive to my own situation. I don’t mean to worry…”

“Oh goodness! Niall, don’t apologize.” Louis pleads and I meet his eye. He’s worried but calm, I’m not sure how to tell the difference anymore, but his expression is settling and my shoulders finally relax. “It’s okay. I get why you try to make the situation humorous. It’s just that…”

“I get it. I really am sorry guys,” I interrupt, turning towards the bathroom. “I’ll hop in the shower for a bit. Do what you like to while you wait.” Then I saunter off to the bathroom quickly before they can see my tears.

Sex is an illusion. Not the actual action of it, but the importance of doing so is.

Ever since civilization began, sex was primarily for survival of familiar heirs. The women were chosen as brides at early ages and then bred to become moths by the age of fourteen. That’s hardly something that was illusionary. As society expanded, sex became as more of a taboo for those under the age specified to whichever society we belonged.

Now, in our current standing, sex is something that all teenagers feel must be performed otherwise they are called prude and overly religious, on the other hand, they are called sluts and whores for having too much of it.

This is why I find sex to be unnecessary for me. Not only is my love frowned upon as it is, sex with another man is sodomy and is highly discouraged. I have no issue with my sexuality though, don’t get me wrong, I am proud of the person I am, but to love someone doesn’t mean we must show it by having sex. That’s what I don’t get about Louis’ trifles with the damned subject.

Thinking about the other day makes me nostalgic. I always get this way when I’m hospitalized. There’s not much for me to do, and Louis and Zayn can only be in here for so much at a time. Harry rarely sees me. I don’t understand why he’s avoiding me like the plague, but I do know that it’s making me feel incredibly unwanted. Clenching my sides, I fight off hot tears brimming at the waterline. Harry used to make me feel wanted, and attractive. But now I feel lonely and ugly and that’s the worst thing that I’ve felt yet. It hurts more than this stupid cancer that has somehow spread.

It hurts more than breaking my leg during the junior soccer playoffs.

More than getting needles stuck in me for tests and to administer painkillers into my system.

What hurts more than anything is how aware I am of how far in love I am with Harry “I’m avoiding Niall” Styles.

And this fucking sucks.

 

xxx

A few days go by and the doctors have done all the tests they possible can do. I’m exhausted, to the point where I’m not able to sleep. Dr. Payne gives me medication to help me sleep. Mom is worried, Dad is giving the silent treatment, Greg is still trying to be the positive one but that’s beginning to wear thin, Louis and Zayn are here every day to keep me company but I can tell that they’re uncomfortable. I don’t blame them. Who really wants to see their best friend die?

I still haven’t seen Harry, besides the doctor stuff. This is killing me more than before. Whatever I did to scare him off, I wish I knew. All I’ve wanted to do is tell him exactly how I feel and to confide in him, but I don’t have that sort of social release that he used to give me. I wish I could get up and walk so I could confront him. I wish I could do things that normal guys my age do. I wish I were enough for him.

When it dawns on me that my current status of health could be the deal breaker for Harry, it crushes everything. That dam I had built up to keep me from crying has been destroyed and I’m in a mess of my tears. I’m crying so much that I don’t even notice that Louis and Harry are standing at the foot of my bed until I’ve got snot dribbling down my upper lip. My eyes widen in shock and I’m quickly wiping at my face but nothing stops. I’m a floodgate that’s burst, a grave that’s been dug up and desecrated. I don’t want Harry to see me like this, I don’t want him to know that I’m emotionally pained.

I don’t want him to be here unless I’m smiling

Harry’s face, although blurred, is filled with an expression that I cannot define. At first glance he’s mortified, and then flushed over with a hint of regret, but all the while conflicted because he begins to show sorrow. I want to say something, anything, but my voice has been stolen and my hand’s are too heavy to reach out to him. Louis is oddly speechless and hasn’t moved from his spot either and as others begin to file into the room, I realize that something must’ve happened because everyone looks about in tears.

Especially Mom.

Dr. Payne approaches my bed with a deep sigh filling the room with a thick murkiness. As per his usual, he flips through some pages on his clipboard and then quickly wipes at a stray tear before pulling up a page and stopping at it. “Good news is that we’ve discovered where the brain tumor came from. Bad news is that… is that…” Liam hesitates and I can see that he’s on the brim of tearing up just like the rest of them. Panning the room, I can tell that every one is in tears, except for Harry. His eyes appear devoid of any sort of emotion, and those normally curved lips are flatlined.

“Is that we aren’t going to be able to save you,” Harry speaks up but his low voice is drained of any sort of emotion. As soon as he tells me the news, he’s quickly shoving past the others to escape.

Chase him. Chase him Niall. Get up and chase him. Those words nag at me, and I want to, but I can’t move. I’m shocked. Speechless. Mortified.

Broken hearted.

Angry.

Anger is definitely boiling my blood and for some oddity, I’m rising out of bed to my feet, touching the cold linoleum and running down the hallway, but it all feels surreal. My eyes are looking down a tunnel, blurred on the edges and endlessly reaching towards a light. This isn’t that corny bullshit where I’m heading down that metaphorical tunnel to walk out into the light of the heavens or something stupid like that. Not that heaven is stupid, but if you put yourself in my shoes, I’m kind of at war with anything existential. I can hear the others calling my name and I’m aware that my legs are beginning to give out on me, but something is pulling me towards Harry. Something is urging me to stop him, to confront him, to tell him how I feel about him.

I hear them calling my name off in the distance, but I’m long gone. I think I’m in Ward D if I’m reading that sign right. It could be a C, but I’m not certain. I finally see him, standing at the reception desk, conversing happily with the nurse sitting behind the desk. He looks at her with such merriment in his eyes, that same gaze he used to give me once upon a time. I don’t know what went wrong between us, but I refuse to allow him to just leave me behind like this. To just say nothing even though I’m dying. I don’t care that I’m dying. I just want him to know that I love him, with every breath I have.

Every dying gasp is exhaled for him.

Every.

Single.

One.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not having updated this in what seems like forever D: but I'm glad to have finally done so. I kept trying to find time to write, and even when I did have the time, I never had the inspiration to write it. Thankfully, my mind can pick things up... eventually. So before I keep rambling on, enjoy! xoxo

I’m miles away, it seems, when I fall to my knees in a heated torrent of harsh gasps. The thud of my collapse is heard on Harry’s ears and I can faintly make out the distinct look of worry on his face as he rushes over to me. My vision slowly begins to fade as I feel my consciousness slip from me. Everything is dark, and I’m certain I’m sleeping, but I can feel warm hands on me, holding me against a chest that’s thumping rapidly. I feel comfortable and safe. This feels familiar and warranted. I could just sleep here forever and I would be completely content with my life.

I’m alive.

Still breathing.

Still here.

My eyes open and I feel as if a truck has hit me ten times over. My lungs are heavy and my legs as if they were replaced with air. The whole lower half of my body is numb and I’m scared that I’ve lost it. When I come to, everyone circles around me with Dr. Payne to my closest right. He checks my forehead and then checks my vitals. My eyes wander the room, passing over each of their faces: Mom, Dad, Greg, Louis, Zayn and Harry. They lock on his face, that perfectly handsome face touched with a dimple on both sides. His usually smiling lips are frowning and his eyes red, most likely from crying. I think I should feel something right now. Grateful. Happy. Elated that he’s actually here, looking at me with such concern in his expression.

But I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"You collapsed in Ward C. Harry carried you all the way to the ICU. You were having another seizure." Liam explains. I don’t remember any of this. Last thing I remember is Harry flirting with that nurse at the receptionists desk and then nothing. Now I feel nothing but rage.

I give Harry a sharp glare and turn away from him. “Thanks, I suppose.” I don’t look to see his expression, but the room suddenly becomes denser. “Do I check out all right?”

"I would say so. It’s probably because you ran out like that while still low on vitals, but with enough sleep, you’ll be fine to walk around within a week."

"Great," I groan, plopping against my pillow irritably. "Can everyone leave so I can sleep then?" I’m certain that my tone of voice is filled with attitude, but I don’t even care right now. I’m so angry, so furious with my life that I’d rather be alone right now.

And that’s the last thing I hate being.

"Of course. C’mon everyone. We’ll check up on him in a few hours," Liam states, and I can hear him ushering everyone out. When I can tell that I’m the only one left, I sit up in bed and sigh, rubbing my eyes and then my temple. Dropping my hands into my blanketed lap, I look out the window. The sun is setting, and it’s clearly about to snow, but the clouds are allowing a small sliver of the sun to peek through and light the day for as long as it’s able. Being alone isn’t so bad. I get to think clearly without others prying into what’s going through my head.

But then, true loneliness settles into the room and accompanies me. Touches my shoulder to let me know it’s here and then leaves as soon as it arrived.

 

"You worried me," his voice is as smooth as silk and as deep as the darkness I feel every moment of my life. I look him in the eyes, taunted by those intensely colored irises, but I keep face.

"Oh? Were you really so worried when you flirted with that nurse?" My words are sharp and to the point. Harry looks at me almost incredulously.

"I wasn’t flirting with her. God forbid I have a conversation with one of my co-workers!"

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure.”

There are a few moments that pass by wordlessly and it’s utterly suffocating. I wish he would just leave me be, but apparently he has to do his “routine check up” on me, which actually means he’s just here to harass me at this point. “Could you just…” I breathe deeply, running my fingers through my hair and pause when there’s a tuft of it sticking to my digits. The reality of my cancer is now dawning on me and honestly, I’d rather be dead than have to go through this constant cycle of chemo and the recovery and more and more chemo and then heartache from a one Harry Styles. Speaking of, his bright eyes are on my hand, staring intently at the fluffy pieces of me that refuse to stay on my scalp.

He tries to comfort me, because I’m sure he can see that I’m hurting—emotionally, obviously—but what he can’t seem to see is that I don’t want to be around him right now. Or maybe it’s that he knows but refuses to comply to my silent wishes.

A giant hand cups over mine and Harry looks me dead in the eyes. “Niall, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There’s a bit of a whimper there, but I ignore it. Deny it. Completely desire to just grab him and hug him but I deny myself that luxury.

The dead can’t have someone to love.

Because the dead will never be anything more than that. And I’m definitely condemned.

"For what," I snap, hoping I’m giving him the deadliest of death stares. I’m probably not, or he’s immune because he squeezes my hand harder. "For ignoring me? For acting like I’m already dead? Well, you don’t need to act anymore because I’m as good as it!"

"Niall!" He hollers, and there are tears in his eyes. Bowing his head, he shakes and his tears are hot as they hit the skin of my arm. "Niall, oh my god Niall. I’m just so scared." I don’t know what possesses me to allow him to do it, but he lays half of his body on my lap and cries there. The room is eerily silent except for the deep breaths he takes and the little sniffles he inhales. Something in me begins to soften and I find myself wrapping my arms around his head as I rest mine against his.

He’s scared. That’s it. He’s scared because he’s realized that I’m fated by my illness. Maybe he saw that death is all around me. No wonder he might want to turn the other way and pretend like he doesn’t care, because the truth is he does. It’s so blatantly obvious and I’m such an idiot for not noticing it sooner myself. How could I even possibly believe that Harry—or anyone for that matter—to be okay with this? How could I think that someone like me could ever be loved by anyone else that isn’t family?

How dare I believe it.

Before I know it, I’m crying as well, tears drowning my face almost instantly. I thought maybe that loving him is what hurts me the most, but now I’m beginning to think that leaving him behind, that not being with him the way that he wants me to—the way I want to—is what kills me. Damn it all if I want to die this way. I would rather die from a broken heart than by cancer any day. At least it would give me meaning, that I died because I wanted to be with someone more than life itself.

But as much as I or anyone else knows, dying from cancer is the most heroic death. I don’t understand it though. You aren’t really fighting, the chemo is, and even that kills you. It mutilates you. Leaves you a terrifying excuse for a corpse and drops you like a kid moves on to a new toy. Everything, everything is against you when you have cancer. Life has given you this disease because it wants to rid of you, but it revels in how you suffer, in how much heartbreak it causes from your death.

Mom and Dad are going to die after their child has.

How is that something worth living through?

"I’m scared too," I finally squeak through my tears, and I slowly sit up, allowing for Harry to follow suit. His eyes are red and swollen and unbelievably, he’s just as beautiful as he always is. But then again, I will always think he’s beautiful. If I could live until we were old and gray, I would still think it. I run my thumb over his cheek, catching a quick tear before sitting him up properly. "I’m scared because I never wanted this to happen to you. I never wanted to see you so broken like this. It’s killing me just as much on the inside as this cancer is." My words are brutally honest and I can see that it’s like stabbing his heart a hundred times over, but I don’t hold back. What’s the point in sugar coating this anymore? But what good is it if I keep acting like I don’t care? What kind of man am I if I don’t at least tell him how I truly feel?

"I’m scared that I’ve fallen so far in love with you that I can’t bear the idea of dying before I can even experience anything with you." The small confession has Harry’s eyes wide open. It’s almost as if he can’t believe I fell for him, but the truth is that I can’t even imagine him reciprocating those feelings for me.

"Y-You do?" He stutters through his tears and oh god this man cannot stop blubbering. He’s like a five year old and it’s unbelievably endearing. I nod my head as I caress his cheek again, smiling softly. "I… I can’t believe it…" and for some reason I feel like the waterworks are going to suddenly disappear and he’s going to laugh and shout that I’m a loser and that he tricked me and I’m such a sucker, but he doesn’t, and he’s still crying and still looking at me with those big green eyes that I just can’t tear my sights away from. Harry’s lips are red and pouty and his cheeks make his face a matching set. "I just… I’m so happy that you feel that way," and he hugs me tightly. It’s the best hug I’ve ever received and it shakes my nerves. I’m literally so apprehensive to his touch that I feel like a chihuahua that has to pee.

Even still, I wrap my arms around him and hold him closer, although I’m not sure it’s even physically possible for us to be closer than we already are. “Harry I…”

"Iloveyoutoo," he interrupts, and it’s said so quickly, almost as if he thought he’d never say it unless it came out in garbled blurbs. "I love you so much, Niall Horan." Harry says again but slower so I can fully understand him. "I just… Why?"

"You’re the doctor, you tell me." I try to joke, but he definitely isn’t having it. "Sorry," I glance down and he just simply smiles. Well as much as he can through those tears of his. "Can you… maybe stop crying now?" I ask softly and he nods, although I see no signs of him stop crying. "I…" Sigh. "What do we do now?"

He shrugs, looking away slightly to think and becomes silent, all the while sniffling.

I ponder how much time I have left. I don’t really feel anything right now, but then again, I am on a lot of pain killers. I wonder if I have maybe a year or two. If that’s the case, what if… “What if we tried to live together…” I voice my thoughts aloud and he looks back to me quickly. “Or… Maybe that was a bad suggestion? I mean, living with a sick person won’t actually be enjoyable so just forget I said anything.” I hurriedly try to deny but Harry grabs for my face and forces me to look at him. His eyes are dead set on me and they have a determined expression about them.

He’s not crying anymore.

"Live with me Niall. Seriously. I want to spend as much time with you as life will allow us. Please." It feels so awfully good to hear him beg for this, I don’t quite understand it, but it makes me feel wanted again. It makes me feel like I’m not actually dying, that I’m someone worth living with, no, living for. "Oh god, please say something," he whines, and I realize I’ve been silent for the past five minutes pondering over the same question I had asked him.

"Are you sure that this is what you want? I mean, any day I could just drop dead and you’d wake up and find me and I just don’t want to—"

"Shhh," he quickly presses his finger to my lips to quiet me and smiles, wiping away a stray tear with his free hand. "Don’t think about that. Think about spending time with each other, living each day out to the fullest and making wonderful memories that I don’t want to share with anyone else. Promise me Niall, promise me that you’ll live happily, that you’ll live with me for the rest of our days." Harry’s expecting an answer that I haven’t quite had the chance to find. Why does this have to be so nerve wracking?

Especially when I am the one to originally suggest it?

After a few moments I finally nod an answer, smiling slightly up at him. It's strange, how suddenly his forlorn expression instantly goes to a warm and invitingly happy one. I don't think I've ever seen him so bright before and it's a nice change of pace. "Okay. Okay, let's do it."


End file.
